To Be His Brother
by Gargoyle13
Summary: Gawain is Galahad's "big brother"...but who was Gawain's?
1. Gawain's Lament

**Disclaimer:** The story concept is mine, the characters are not.

**A/N:** This is placing Galahad's arrival in Britain after Gawain and the rest of the Knights. It is not a slash-based story. It is, however, a multi-chapter saga, so please be patient.

* * *

Evening was approaching; time for supper, followed by laughter and drink among brothers. Galahad was searching for Gawain. Since Gawain had been late to supper the night prior and unusually disgruntled that there had been no bread remaining, Galahad had been placed in charge of making certain Gawain was on time tonight. It was rare that Galahad could not locate Gawain within moments of beginning his search. Lately though, Galahad noticed Gawain seemed to have a newfound ability to disappear seemingly into thin air.

"Rather like Tristran," Galahad muttered to himself. Tristran's ability to become one with his surroundings, so quickly and completely as to make one question if the scout had ever really been there, had always unnerved Galahad. And many of the other Knights, he suspected though never voiced. But Gawain? He was one of the bulkiest Knights, hardly able to do anything quietly and among the least likely to be able to simply disappear. No, Galahad was certain he was around somewhere. The trick as of late had been finding out where.

He'd been wandering the fort for some time now, trying all the usual places: the kitchen, though full of lovely smells and tastes, had, oddly enough, not yielded a glimpse of Gawain; the tavern was full and boisterous, but seemed empty without the hearty laugh of his brother; Gawain's room was devoid of his presence as were the stables, pasture, archery range and practice arena. Galahad had even gone to the bath, on a whim. The attendants had looked up hopefully at his entrance, yearning for something to do, but he had simply shaken his dusty curls and left.

All his searching led Galahad back to the tavern, where he took his usual seat and scanned the entry. When Vanora approached with a mug, Galahad took it gratefully and asked if she had, by chance, seen his missing brother. Vanora shook her head and commented that, strangely, she had not seen him since the night before. He scanned the entire tavern, searching every shadow for any sign of Gawain.

"Cemetery." The answer seemed to come from thin air and caused Galahad to jump and swallow a larger gulp of mead than he'd intended. Choking and gasping, he twisted in his seat to see Tristran, seated comfortably against the wall, dissecting an apple.

"Gods, Tristran! Could you not sneak up on people like that?" Galahad sputtered and swore he saw the faintest smile flicker across the scout's face.

Tristran shrugged. "Here before you."

Galahad carefully considered Tristran's information on Gawain's whereabouts and the scout himself, trying to decipher what he knew about Gawain's mood.

Tristran never looked up from his apple, seemingly entranced by peeling and slicing the fruit. "What to do is your decision."

"Thanks," Galahad mumbled, setting down the mug.

*********************************************************

Galahad knew that grave. Gawain lingered at the edge of it after every burial. Out of curiosity, Galahad inquired with Dagonet one day as to who was buried there and why Gawain lingered.

"Agravaine," Dag answered in his matter-of-fact way, "and if Gawain has said nothing to you, neither will I. You ask him." Dag, as he had a knack for, both succinctly answered and closed the door on any further queries.

So Galahad had done as suggested and asked Gawain about the grave, only to be told to mind his own business. When Galahad pressed the question, he had been unprepared for Gawain's reply: "I have told you to mind your own business. Now drop it. Or I will drop you." The cold fury in Gawain's voice had persuaded Galahad to cease his inquiry. That night had been passed with heavy drinking and a narrowly avoided fight with a visiting Roman company.

Now, standing at the entry of the cemetery, watching Gawain on one knee clutch at the impaled sword with whitened knuckles, Galahad was uncertain of his decision. He was fairly certain Gawain had not heard his approach since the big man moved naught in acknowledgement.

The predicament, in Galahad's mind, was if he should stay or go. If this man meant so much to Gawain to drive him to bended knee, perhaps it would be best to leave him in privacy. But, conversely, if it was enough to do that, perhaps he should stay and try to offer some measure of comfort. Galahad sighed heavily. Curiosity was one of his acknowledged weaknesses and, he admitted, it tended to land him in quite a few sticky situations. Shrugging, Galahad slid a bit closer, confident that Gawain was so enmeshed in his own world that he wouldn't notice Galahad's encroachment.

"Agravaine," croaked Gawain, "my gods, you should be here with us. We depart in a couple days' time to meet a bishop friend of Arthur's. He's bringing our papers of passage. Freedom, Agravaine. Freedom that you should be here to receive. Would be…" Gawain's voice trailed off, as he both remembered and tried to forget.

When Gawain returned from his memories, his voice was a mere whisper and Galahad found himself sidling closer to hear.

"I hope you have forgiven… The plains of Sarmatia welcomed you. Anu blessed you with unbridled freedom because that is what you deserved out of this life. Not what you were given." Gawain paused to inhale and release the watershed he'd been holding back.

Galahad felt his own tears falling as he listened to Gawain's lament, wondering how his brother had managed to keep this inside for so long, hidden from everyone. The pain, the anguish was so plain on Gawain's features that Galahad wanted to rush forward and play the role of big brother. Take Gawain in his arms, stroke long plaits and bid him to just let go, much as Gawain had done so many times for Galahad: his arrival at Cilurnum – lonely, frightened and terribly home-sick; after his first battle; when Mouse had died…countless other times.

So lost was Galahad in his own memories that he nearly missed when Gawain resumed speaking.

"I did as you would have. I found a youngster and passed the traditions on to him. Galahad. You would like him. He's many things, but lacking of spirit is never one of them. He is young and innocent and passionate, about being a knight and about life. Such a strong will to live on his terms. He believes in Sarmatia, in a better life, in all the things I wish I could bring myself to. I only hope that I have been as good a brother to him as you were to me. Somehow, I doubt it. I could never be you… I only hope that I have been there when he has needed me…that I will not fail him…" As Gawain's voice trailed off, Galahad could no longer hold his tongue.

"I will not listen to you say that you have not been a good brother, to me or to anyone else," Galahad chastised him. He half expected Gawain to get up and follow through with the long ago threat to drop him, but to his surprise, Gawain did nothing. When there was no sign of movement, Galahad took it as his cue to continue. "You have been there for all your brothers, not just me. Though you have favoured me with a closer bond of brotherhood than the rest, they would all agree that you have been nothing less than, well, brotherly. You have always been the one turned to when a cheerful word or smile or laugh was needed."

Gawain sat back on his heels, wiping tired eyes with calloused hands, regarding Galahad thoughtfully. "Are you finished?"

Galahad began to again re-think his decision when Gawain stood and moved toward him. He instinctively backed away, only to find himself tripped up on the grave behind him. As Galahad fell backwards, he felt Gawain grab hold of his arm, breaking his fall and letting him down on his arse.

"So you are now going to give me advice, eh? Well, perhaps before you go doling out what you think are truths you should find out the truth yourself."

Gawain stressed the last words and unwittingly provided all the invitation Galahad needed.

"Why don't you set me straight then, brother?"


	2. Challenge of Truth

That had not gone as planned, but Galahad was quite used to that; not many of his plans went, well, according to plan to be honest. Gawain was looking down at him as he rested on his arse between graves.

"Are you challenging me, Galahad?" Gawain's voice had an edge to it that Galahad did not care for. But, it was too late to turn back now. Galahad had spoken the words and now he had to stand by them. That had been a hard lesson to learn – not to speak the words unless you were willing to defend them.

Galahad swallowed and stood, shaking himself free of the grasp. "No, Gawain, I am not challenging you…not in the sense that I want to fight you or argue with you." He noticed the confusion on his brother's face. "I am just asking you to tell me the truths that you spoke of. That you insist I do not know. That I am not certain any of them," he gestured toward the mess where the remainder of their brothers would be gathered by now, enjoying drink and merrymaking, "know either. I have asked some of them and they decline to answer in your stead, telling me that I must ask you if I want answers." He looked straight into Gawain's eyes, "So now I am asking you plainly: tell me the truths that you have hidden these years. You have seen my soul lay bare but I feel that you have kept a large part of yours hidden. And now I want to see it."

Galahad was shocked when the response from Gawain was little more than the usual half-laugh/half-smirk.

"You stand here and ask about my soul? You, of all people, stand in front of me and, not even ask, but demand that I lay bare my soul to you and tell you the truths you feel I have kept from you?" Gawain was once again looking dangerous and Galahad was wishing he had not chosen such strong words. "How dare you. How dare you stand in this place, in front of this grave and demand anything…"

Gawain's voice was actually dropping in volume and Galahad knew from experience it was time to be wary. Gawain might be a big man, but he could strike quickly when provoked.

"You are correct that I have given you more than I have given any of them. Why, Galahad? Why? You want the truth? Fine, I will give you the truth you demand. I have favored you because I saw the frightened and homesick little Sarmatian boy that was dragged here, struggling to survive, sick to his stomach from the boat, bewildered by everything he had witnessed along the way and wishing to every god and goddess he could think of that the sun would rise tomorrow and he would be back at home and this would all be just a bad dream. And in that little boy, in you, I saw me. I saw what this man," he pointed at the grave he had stepped over to keep Galahad from falling, "saw in me. And someone before him saw in him. A boy in need of a big brother to guide him, to help him, to protect him when necessary but mainly just to be a brother on this cold and merciless island."

At that, Gawain reached behind him to grasp the hilt of the sword, as much for balance as for reassurance. The tears were coming back to his eyes and he didn't trust himself to be able to face Galahad for much longer.

He cleared his throat and spoke again, softly. "So, you now have your answer, Galahad, as to why it is that I favor you above the others. You can go now and leave me in peace." He sighed and drew closer to the sword.

Galahad dropped his head, knowing that he would most likely not get more from Gawain but desperately wanting to provide a salve for the gaping wounds he had glimpsed.

"Gawain," he began slowly, "I am not going to leave you here." He moved to the larger man's side and put his arm around his shoulder. "It is getting dark. We have missed dinner. We can skip drinking. But I won't leave you here. You say you will be in peace but what I heard before was anything but the words of a man at peace. You don't have to tell me any more, I have no right to ask for more – you answered the question I asked. But I do have the right to ask you, as your brother, to come in from the dark, join me to get a bite to eat and some sleep."

Galahad let loose one of the dazzling smiles he knew Gawain found impossible resist. True to form, Gawain took the bait and, after a moment, nodded agreement, letting the younger Knight lead him away from the grave, towards the kitchen.

As they were about to exit the cemetery, Gawain stopped abruptly. He shrugged Galahad's arm from round his shoulders, turning to face the younger knight. "Tomorrow night, Galahad. Well, actually, tomorrow evening," he corrected, "just before sunset. I will gather the necessities and do what you have asked. I will tell you about me, lay bare my soul and admit the truths I have mourned silently." He looked back to the grave they had just left. "Because it is only through telling you that he will live on and on, for generations to come; his name and deeds should be remembered and celebrated, not mourned silently."

Gawain saw the question in Galahad's eyes and gave another half laugh. Pointing back to the grave, he leaned in and whispered, "Agravaine. His name was Agravaine and he was my big brother, just as I am yours."


	3. Unraveling

The next evening, just before sunset, Galahad met Gawain outside the kitchen as appointed. Noting the bulging packs Gawain carried over each shoulder, Galahad surmised that Gawain had persuaded the kitchen wench with the biggest crush on him to stuff as much bread, fruit and dried meat into them as possible. He had also managed to talk Van into a couple of skins of mead, Galahad duly noted. Then Galahad noticed that the pack over Gawain's left shoulder looked vaguely familiar, rather like Galahad's saddlebag…

"Are we going somewhere?" Galahad was confused because movements of the Knights were strictly controlled and Arthur had said nothing at their afternoon briefing.

"Not exactly," Gawain stopped next to Galahad and slid off the pack Galahad had recognized as his own. "Take this," he slid the bag into Galahad's hand, "and this," he handed him a full skin and tankard.

"Where are we going? Does Arthur know that we are going to be gone?"

Gawain laughed softly. "We aren't going anywhere Galahad. At least not anywhere outside the fort."

Shaking his head, he motioned for Galahad to follow. Still confused, Galahad trotted a couple steps to catch up to Gawain, who had begun briskly covering ground, muttering quietly something about not enough time and they needed to hurry. "Come on, Gal, we're going to have to pick up the pace a bit to make it in time."

"Make what, Gawain? Where are we going? Maybe I know a shorter route…" Galahad's words fell to the breeze since Gawain had begun jogging and put a bit of distance between them. Grumbling something about always the hurry, Galahad found himself running, swinging his pack 'round his neck so it would stop tangling up his legs. Panting slightly, he caught up with Gawain at the base of a set of stairs leading to an unused, slightly crumbling parapet. "What are we doing…?" Before Galahad could finish his thought, Gawain had turned, smiled, winked and dashed up the steps, taking them two and three at a time. Rolling his eyes, Galahad did likewise. When he reached the top, he realized Gawain had gone around to the far side of the walkway and set his pack down.

"Okay, Gawain," Galahad walked over and set his pack down heavily, "what is so important that we had to run…?"

Gawain held a finger to his lips, signaling Galahad to be quiet. "Trust me, Galahad. Please. Just arrange your things and sit. I will explain it all in a while." He took a step back so Galahad could cross in front of him.

Looking unconvinced, Galahad moved his pack and sat on Gawain's left. He sat and began to rummaging to see what sorts of delicious tidbits Gawain had been able to coax out of the kitchen girls. An elbow in the side stopped him; he looked up at Gawain questioningly, who simply pointed over the small wall to the sky. Galahad looked and gaped at the sight.

It was sunset and Galahad wasn't sure if he had simply never noticed before or if tonight was some sort of special sunset that Gawain somehow knew was coming. The sky was brightly coloured in every shade of red that Galahad could imagine. If he looked higher, leaned against the forward wall and looked behind him, he could see it turning purple and if he looked even farther up, he could see the twinkle of the starts beginning to appear. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he heard Gawain whisper in his ear, "breathe, Galahad…breathe…" The soft chuckle from his brother made him smile, widely and without a trace of self-consciousness.

Once the deep blue of night held dominance, he turned his attention back toward Gawain, who was leaning back against the wall, calmly cutting up strips of dried meat, tearing off hunks of bread and smiling as he watched Galahad.

"Gawain…that was…amazing. How did you know about it? Is today a special day? What is it?" Galahad's questions tumbled over each other in his haste.

Laughing, Gawain handed Galahad some bread. "Tonight is special Galahad, but not for the reason you think. It is just an ordinary night. Like yesterday was and tomorrow will be." He shrugged. "Have you never truly looked at a sunset, Galahad?"

It was the younger's turn to shrug now. "I guess not in a long time."

Gawain shook his head, smiling. "It was his favourite time." He leaned back, closing his eyes and remembering.

Galahad wasn't quite sure what to do, so he settled for watching the man in front of him be lost in good memories for a bit.

Cracking an eye open, Gawain held up a hand to keep Galahad quiet and pointed to his ears. "Listen, Gal. You can hear every individual Knight if you listen." Galahad concentrated on being quiet and listening; he found that with little effort, Gawain was correct and he could pick out the voices of his brother Knights with a fair amount of clarity.

"But…how?" Galahad was staring at Gawain in wonder. The latter chuckled.

"The same way that I learned to appreciate the sunset, even though I have not done so in a long, long time…" Gawain's voice trailed off as he remembered the real reason for this evening. Clearing his throat, he whispered, "It was Agravaine's favourite time of day at the fort. Sunset. We would come up here most every night we were not out in the field, watch the sunset, listen to the voices of the others and talk."

Gawain took a deep breath, holding it for a moment. The resulting sigh seemed to start at the bottoms of his boots and work its way up through the large frame.

"Why was it his favourite time of day?" Galahad's interest had been piqued.

"Because it meant the day was done, he and I and all the others had survived another day." Gawain smiled briefly, "His least favourite was sunrise. Not only did it mean we had to crawl out of bed, but it meant the uncertainty of what that day would bring. Would we be able to sit up here that night, enjoying the sunset and the sound of our brothers in their nightly merrymaking? Who knew?" Gawain shrugged as Galahad nodded understanding.

"Makes sense. And with sunsets like that, how could you argue?"

"It wasn't the sunsets, Galahad. Though they were nice, it was the talks afterward. That was when Agravaine would speak to me – really talk to me about things. Everything from battles and tactics to, well, really anything because no topic was off-limits between him and me; much as I hope it has been for you and me." Gawain peered at the Knight seated next to him, knowing the assessment was not entirely accurate else they would not be having this conversation. Galahad made a noise that Gawain understood meant agreement.

Both men settled back against the stones as Gawain sliced more dried meat and Galahad tore off more pieces of bread. They sat in companionable silence as they worked, not really needing words to enjoy each other.

"What was he like, Gawain? Agravaine, I mean. No one else will say much about him. I've asked everyone, including Arthur. Arthur just kind of shrugs and says that Agravaine was many things, but above all he was a great Knight." Galahad watched his brother intently as he posed the question, trying to discern an initial reaction to his query. Would Gawain actually answer him finally or would it be more of the same half-answers?

Gawain rested his head against the stones and swallowed hard. "Arthur's right. Agravaine was many things to many different people, including a great Knight in service to Rome. That is why you cannot get a single answer from anyone. Everyone knew different sides of him. Mainly they knew the Knight, the hot-tempered, volatile warrior who would do anything it took to ensure the Knights came out winning each battle. They knew his fierce loyalty – each one of them was his brother on some level." Gawain shrugged. "And just like you and me and everyone else, there were some he liked less than others – and he had his way of making sure you knew exactly how much he liked you. But no matter if he liked you or not, there was nobody else you wanted standing next to you on a battlefield." Gawain smiled slightly at this.

Galahad sat back and thought on this new information. It would explain quite a bit about Gawain if Agravaine were his mentor, much as Gawain had been his. Though Gawain's battle style had never worn off on him, many other things had.

"So what else?" Galahad glanced over as Gawain's eyes shifted to him, questioning. "I mean, what else about Agravaine? You've given me more information than I had before sunset, but he could still be any Knight…almost," he added when he saw the protest forming in his brother. "But what made him…well…Agravaine? I know you said he was hot-tempered and volatile as a warrior, but what about otherwise? Was he like Dagonet? Or more like Lancelot?"

The spray of wine and gasping choke killed Galahad's words on his tongue.

"Are you alright, Gawain?" Galahad worried as Gawain began coughing hard.

Gawain waved off Galahad's question. When he stopped coughing, Gawain looked at Galahad and smirked.

"Be thankful, Galahad, that Agravaine was not here to hear that last comparison. He would take high offense to anyone comparing him to 'the mouth', as he liked to call Lancelot." Gawain shook his head and began to laugh. "Agravaine had nicknames for most of the Knights. In fact, it was considered worse if he didn't give you a nickname than if he did, no matter how un-flattering it might be."

"Really?"

Gawain nodded adamantly.

"What were some of the others?" Galahad thought 'the mouth' so appropriate for Lancelot; he just had to know what some of the other Knights had been called.

"Let's see…" Gawain paused to take a drink. "Lancelot was 'the mouth'. Dagonet was 'big boy'. Tristran was 'shadow'. Bryce was 'mouse'. Gaheris was '1' and Gareth was '2'. Bors was 'ram'. Bedwyr was…what was he…oh yes, he was 'the sneak'… I don't know who else…" Gawain furrowed his brow in thought.

"What about Arthur? Did he have nicknames for any of the Roman commanders?"

Gawain thought. "Not really. See, Galahad, the nicknames were really terms of affection and even though he thought Arthur a decent command, he really didn't hold any affection toward him. Even Lancelot's – the two of them did not get along, and it showed his aggravation with Lancelot, but it was also a half-jest on Agravaine's part. Sometimes, Gal, sometimes the nickname even took over. Bryce, to Agravaine, had ceased being Bryce – the only thing Agravaine called him was 'mouse'. Unless he was really mad…then he called him Bryce and it didn't matter what he called him 'cause Bryce wasn't showing his face anyway." Gawain began laughing, obviously remembering a time or two this had manifested.

"You've named most of the rest, but what about you, Gawain? You had to have had a nickname…"

Gawain sobered quickly. He swallowed and whispered, "I was 'blood'."

Galahad turned this new information over in his mind. As if sensing Galahad's intent to possibly try out some of the new information, Gawain shook his head.

"Don't do it, Galahad." He looked at the younger Knight and the jovial light was gone from his eyes. "It would not be advisable. If they liked him or not, Agravaine's death was painful and being reminded…I…I don't know how anyone would react. I would hate to see Tristran try to cut your throat out of…whatever." Gawain stopped talking and became involved in chewing a strip of meat.

Galahad nodded in understanding. He could see Gawain's point, but still…this was good information to have. He might finally have something on Lancelot that the elder could not argue. Clearing his throat, he decided to pursue the night's subject and see just how much Gawain would share. Rising to stretch his legs, he began his quest.

"So, Gawain," he pursued, waiting until Gawain looked up, "I know how you got to be my big brother. How did Agravaine get to be yours?"


	4. Information Flow

Gawain looked from Galahad to the dried meat he twirled in his hands and then the sky. He knew he had reached the point of no return. He was either going to tell Galahad or he wasn't. He'd promised the boy he'd tell him, answer his questions. It would be wrong of him not to follow through. Besides, what was it that Arthur always said his priests said, that confession was good for…something? Maybe, just maybe…

Galahad watched the intense debate within Gawain's eyes. He knew his brother struggled with telling him and not telling him. What caused so much strife, Galahad wasn't sure, but he was desperately hoping Gawain would hold true to his word.

Letting out a sigh, Gawain cleaned the dagger, wiping off any bits of dried meat and replaced it in its sheath.

"You know what it was like to come to this place. You were tired, starving for food but too sick to your stomach to eat, and just wanting to close your eyes and be back in Sarmatia when you opened them." Galahad nodded and Gawain shrugged. "It was much the same for me. When we got to Cilurnum, I was so tired and sick, I just wanted to die. The boat ride had not gone well for me." He looked plainly at Galahad. "Yes, Galahad, like you, I was one of those, as the Romans termed us, weak-stomached Sarmatian whelps that they dragged to the side." Gawain again fiddled with the dried meat he held. "It wasn't a good trip for many different reasons, but that was kind of the final thing. Getting sick on the boat was just…I don't know. It broke me, Galahad. It made me realize that I was not going to wake up and be back in Sarmatia, that there was a good chance I wasn't going to even see Sarmatia again… I couldn't eat much after that. A couple bites and I would feel sick."

Galahad grunted as he chewed some bread. He remembered that feeling all too well.

Gawain took a deep breath and drink. "After we got off the boat, I went through each day not truly caring where we were going or what was going to happen when we got there." He shrugged. "We got here, to Cilurnum, and it was even more brutal and sickening than I had imagined."

Galahad nodded his head. Gawain watched him and shook his head.

"No, Gal, I'm afraid you don't know. Remember – when I got here, Arthur was not the commander. The officers you know weren't officers." Gawain let out a small laugh. "In fact, most of them were legionnaires, or were being trained, just like us and just like Arthur." He looked down into his tankard, memories coming quickly.

"So forget them, Gawain. I don't care about some Roman commander. I want to know about Agravaine."

The snort took Galahad off-guard.

"But you can't know…you can't understand unless…you have to know what life here was in order to know why things were the way they were. The things that Agravaine did, that the other Knights did, that we did – were all wrapped around what the fort was like at the time. And, as you well know, that is a reflection of the commanding officer."

Realization dawned on Galahad. Arthur was the only commanding officer he'd known, so it had been easy for him to assume that, well, the way Arthur did things was the way it had always been done. He knew that was wrong; had been told that was wrong many, many times before. Cilurnum had been a vastly different place before Arthur, at least as far as the Sarmatians were concerned.

"So was Agravaine waiting when you arrived and he just, kind of, well, started training you? Or was it more like how you just started helping me with stuff and the two of you just, well, fell into being brothers?"

Gawain raised an eyebrow, staring at the stones in front of him. Galahad tried to read his brother's expression, determine where his mind was when the snort and laugh startled him.

"No, Galahad…it wasn't like that at all. In fact, I didn't like him when I first met him. Ask any of them," he nodded toward the voices, "about their first thoughts of Agravaine and they'll tell you he was a harsh, cold, relentless bastard who seemed to enjoy inflicting pain and suffering on the new trainees." Galahad's jaw dropped and he stared at Gawain, who just looked back blandly. "What? It's all the truth. Trust me, Galahad; there was not one jealous man when Agravaine took me as his student. And I was none too happy about it either." Gawain shrugged and gnawed at a crust of bread.

Galahad sat back to take in this new information. He had just kind of assumed that Agravaine and Gawain had connected the way he and Gawain had. It had just…happened. Gawain had been the unfortunate Knight to walk into one of Galahad's many messes and, well, he'd taken care of that mess and many of the messes since. Galahad had just kind of attached himself to Gawain after that, whether the elder had wanted it or not. He knew the other Knights had teased Gawain about having a puppy on his heels; he was always glad that Gawain had softened and they had become close. Truly, he had known they would – even when he'd been introduced to the Knights for the first time, he could recall thinking that Gawain would be his trainer.

Shrugging, Galahad looked to his brother. "I don't understand. If you didn't like him and it sounds like he didn't like anybody…"

Gawain sighed. "Sometimes, Galahad, strange things happen and people are thrown together." He reached for another piece of bread and chewed thoughtfully. "And sometimes, Gal, sometimes I think the gods put things in motion for reason that we don't like or understand, but it all works out in the end." Gawain nodded and smiled sadly. "Yeah, it all works out in the end."


	5. Adjustment and Training pt I

Leaning back, Gawain closed his eyes and concentrated. He'd gone this far, told Galahad this much…besides, hadn't he professed earlier that he wanted his mentor, his brother, to live on for generations...?

Drawing a deep breath, Gawain contemplated where to begin.

"I guess, Galahad, I guess things were just…different." Gawain shrugged as he searched for the words to explain training, adjusting to this life when it had been so very different than what Galahad had walked into.

For his part, Galahad simply watched the man next to him struggling with words and, deep inside Galahad knew, he was still struggling with whether or not he wanted to continue to divulge his secrets.

"I remember," Gawain began haltingly, "I remember arriving here and meeting the Knights." He shook his head and gave a small laugh. "I remember wondering how, on all the plains of Sarmatia, these men managed to win a battle."

Galahad looked up from the stone he'd been picking at. "What do you mean? Weren't they the great Sarmatian Knights who had served under Arthur's father? That was supposed to be the greatest group…" Galahad's voice trailed off as Gawain began nodding.

"Oh yes, that they were. Many of them had served under Uther and, yes, they were supposed to be the best. But that wasn't how they looked, Galahad; at least not to the eyes of a young boy. I remember meeting them all…Pelleas, Bedwyr, Perceval, Lamorak, Gaheris and Gareth, Dinadan, Kay, Ector, Priamus, Perin, Bryce, Tor, Uwaine and, finally, Agravaine." He stopped and smiled at the memory. "They must have only just returned from a mission or assorted patrols because, to be honest Galahad, they looked terrible. I think we were all a bit disappointed. We had traveled so far, seen so much…" at that Gawain involuntarily shuddered, "I know I just wanted some proof, some assurance that…" his voice faltered as he swallowed hard, "I guess, Galahad, I just wanted something to put my faith in that it would all be okay and I would one day get to go home. I didn't get that sense from them and that frightened me. I began to wonder if any of us would go home…ever."

Gawain looked up to the sky, trying to come to grips with the words he had just uttered. He had never voiced those doubts to anyone, never admitted to the fear that held him in the darkness while the other boys slept. It had driven him from his bed countless nights, out into the damp, chilly night air…what had he been seeking? Comfort? Mercy? Sympathy?

He took another deep breath and continued. "I found…nothing…kneeling in the cool dirt, uttering prayers to Anu late into the night. Sometimes, Gal, sometimes they were tearful, sometimes desperate but always, always fearful of what was going to happen – not only to me, to all of us."

Galahad was silent. He didn't know what to say to the large man next to him. It was difficult for him to picture Gawain as a frightened boy. Since Galahad had known him, he'd always been so confident, so composed…so assured of his strength, of the strength of the Knights, in their ability to survive. It struck him dumb to think that Gawain had ever thought differently. He struggled to understand this while Gawain struggled to find a point of continuation.

"I think, Galahad," Gawain picked up after a few moments, "I think I need to stretch my legs." He rose slowly, walked a few paces down the battlement and stared off into the night.

Galahad watched his brother with concern. He would not hold it against Gawain if he decided to call it a night. For his part, Galahad had not realized how difficult this would be for Gawain to tell. It had, during all this, slowly dawned on Galahad that likely each of the Knights had a similar story to share; it was, essentially, the same story, but each would have a different accounting of the events. What had coming to Britain been like for Dagonet? For Bors? For Lancelot? For Tristran? He smiled slightly at the last one; Tristran, of all of them, would likely have adapted quickly to the new circumstances with the least amount of suffering. Although, Galahad would also have put Gawain in that category, with his easy-going nature and ability to quickly change focus, tactics and direction…

Gawain slowly paced his way back and stood, his back to Galahad, leaning against the short front wall.

"It was terrible, Galahad and every day I am thankful that you did not serve under Lucanus." Gawain's voice was quiet. "That you did not have to endure his brutality, his cruelty and his disregard for our lives." Gawain laughed a humourless laugh. "You see, Galahad, Lucanus was the opposite of Arthur…and Uther, from what I was told. Whereas Arthur fights with us and for us, hoping to at least send some of us home, Lucanus…" again the humourless laugh left Gawain's throat, "he believed that the Sarmatians were brought here to die, not to serve and return home. It was our duty to fight, to die, so that good, strong, Roman blood need not be spilled in keeping this outpost. I can remember him saying that Sarmatian blood was like water, plentiful and meant to drench the battlefields. Our dead should be dragged back from the battlefield, buried and mourned. Because we were nothing and he knew that sooner or later another convoy would arrive bringing a fresh group of Sarmatian boys to train and send to their deaths."

Galahad closed his eyes as he listened and felt the shiver run up his spine. Not because Gawain was telling him anything new – no, he had heard countless times how fortunate he was to never have served under Arthur's predecessor. Rather, he shivered because he imagined it from Gawain's point of view; as the young Sarmatian boy, brought here thinking he would serve his time and return home, just as his father had, only to find a wholly different situation and left wondering if he would even survive. And all before even being sent into battle or wielding a sword. Galahad's head began to spin and he leaned back to steady himself.

"See how important it is that you understand how different Cilurnum was? It made quite a difference in the day-to-day life of the Knights. Knowing that your commanding officer only wants to see your dead body returned, counts his successes by the number of Sarmatian graves…that, Galahad," Gawain turned and faced him, allowing Galahad to see the coldness in his eyes, "that alone will change your attitude, your willingness…it can change everything that you do or say, how you react, how you perceive every word spoken by the Romans…" Gawain shook long plaits, "and it can make you hold everyone as far away as possible."

Galahad rose and moved next to Gawain, looking out toward the night sky. "I am thankful too, believe me brother. I always knew it was a terrible situation, but until now I had not realized how terrible. At least though, at least Arthur came into command and things improved." He looked hopefully at the man next to him.

"Yeah, Gal, that was a large improvement. He embraced the idea of the Knights, wanted to be one. His father counted himself as one, you know." Gawain looked sideways at Galahad, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You didn't know?" Gawain let out a small laugh. "Uther was the first non-Sarmatian to claim membership in the Knights. I am told he was proud of that – to call himself one of the Knights and he referred to himself as such at every opportunity. Quite unlike his successor…" Gawain frowned at the turn of memories.

"Ok, Gawain, so you've firmly established for me the Roman command and attitude when you arrived here. Now tell me more about your training and, more importantly, how Agravaine got to be your big brother…" Galahad hoped the eagerness in his voice would shake the gloom that had settled on his brother's shoulders. Luckily, it seemed that even in his current gloom, Gawain was still not immune to Galahad's infectious charms and Gawain smiled in spite of himself.


	6. Adjustment and Training pt II

Shrugging, Gawain picked up the narrative.

"There isn't much to tell, Galahad. It was training and adjustment, just like it was for you."

"Liar."

"What?"

"You're lying, Gawain. It wasn't like it was for me, just like coming here wasn't the same from you to me."

Gawain sighed. Sometimes Galahad was too bright, too perceptive and too damn relentless in his inquisitiveness. Running a hand through his tangles, he relented. "What do you want to know, Galahad?"

"I want to know what it was like, Gawain. The training – who trained you? You said that Agravaine wasn't your big brother at this point, so who trained you? Who trained Lancelot and Tristran and Dag and Bors…?"

"They all trained us, Gal. Whoever was at the fort trained us, sparred with us, taught us. There was no one person who took responsibility for any one of us. Pelleas was the senior Knight so he oversaw the entire training process…it was just, I don't know. Someone was always waiting in the practice arena and if you wanted some extra instruction, all you had to do was ask – unless one of the Knights noticed that you lagged in a particular area, then you would be ordered to extra sessions and assigned a teacher."

"And were you?"

"Was I what, Galahad?"

"What extra sessions did you have to attend?"

"Why do you think I had extra sessions? What about…Lancelot? Or Tristran?" Gawain raised his eyebrows, faking outrage at the assertion.

Galahad contemplated this for a bit. "I don't know about either of them and right now, I don't care. I want to know about you…your training, your struggles… You know the things I struggled with, but what about you? Did you struggle with anything?"

Genuine laughter came from his brother, which brought a smile to Galahad's face.

"Yes, Galahad, I had extra sessions. I was lagging in archery and my sword skills were not considered on par with, say, Lancelot. So I was ordered to extra training for those."

"Really?"

"Yes, Galahad, really. I have not lied to you thus far tonight…why would I start now? I had extra training with archery and sword fighting."

Galahad scratched his chin. "And…?"

"And what?"

"And who were your teachers? Honestly, Gawain, if I have to keep repeating myself…" Galahad looked up and caught the teasing in his brother's eye. Scowling, he returned to his seat across from Gawain where he could better gauge when his brother was jesting with him.

"Archery lessons came from Bedwyr, Perceval, Gaheris and Gareth. It depended on who was at the fort and had time. Sword lessons were Kay, Ector, Dinadan and Agravaine. For some reason, it seemed more times than not when I was sent to extra lessons, Agravaine was teaching that day. Whether that was coincidence or not, I don't know and he never said." Gawain shrugged. "All I knew was that whoever got sent with me more than once ended up hating me because of that."

Galahad raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Agravaine was a bastard when it came to sparring. He would drop you in the center of the arena within about, oh, three moves…five if you were good and maybe eight or ten if you were lucky. Then he would back away and it would begin again – he would drop you and you would get back up. This would go on and on while he barked instructions at you and made you retrace your steps and moves. When your forearms hurt so bad you couldn't grip your sword…somehow he always knew when that happened and that was when he would really get aggressive. His backhand was…" Gawain snorted, "I can't even think of what to liken it to, Gal. It just hurt…you would feel the pain all the way into your shoulder – sometimes all the way into your spine, especially in the colder weather. He would, of course, drop you countless times easily at this point and each time he would yell at you to pick your sword up, get up and defend yourself. He was relentless and everyone hated him."

"What if you didn't?"

"What if you didn't what?"

"What if you didn't get up? What then?"

Gawain had settled back into his seat and reached for his tankard, taking a drink and contemplating the few times he had witnessed someone bold or stupid enough not to get up.

"He would wait. He'd end everyone else's lessons and wait. Eventually you'd recover enough to get up and he'd order you to pick your sword up. Of course you would, because you would need to take it with you anyway…and he would tell you to defend yourself. Actually, more accurately, he would give you no choice. Once you had that sword in your grip, the fight was back on except the point was no longer to teach you – it was simply to beat you, and I don't mean as in winning the contest, Gal. I mean beat you. You were going to bleed." Gawain took another drink. "When he was done, he would send someone to fetch you off to the healer. I am sure some of the other Knights and he had words over it, but Agravaine didn't care. You were not going to disrespect him by not following his commands. Someone tried it, to test him; after that, after that idiot got carried to the healers, it was pretty well the last time someone tried him."

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Galahad digested this new information. This was training unlike he'd had. He'd thought his had been rough… Galahad silently thanked the gods that he hadn't been subjected to training under Agravaine. Honestly, Galahad wasn't entirely certain he'd have survived it.


	7. Adjustment and Training pt III

**A/N:** Sorry for the long delay in chapters. My muse has decided to go on an apparently extended vacation…blasted little thing. If you happen to see her roaming about, I would be eternally grateful if you sent her packing back home.

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"That sounds…horrible, Gawain." Galahad's voice was quiet. "I'm not certain I could have…" Galahad's voice trailed off at Gawain's snort.

"What choice did I, did we, have, Galahad?" Gawain looked expectantly at the younger. "The answer is – there was none. Learn to fight or die. Learn to defend yourself or life here was going to be very, very short indeed." He snorted into his tankard as he took a long drink. "Now, Galahad," Gawain began laughing quietly as he spoke; "now you know why all of us were so…frustrated or impatient sometimes when training your group. Because we knew we were, in some ways, going much easier on you than our teachers had."

Galahad thought back on the times Gawain had stormed out of a training session, narrowly "missing" impaling some boy with his axe; or Gaheris, Gareth or Tristran had narrowly "missed" sinking an arrow into a trainee's heart; or Lancelot had outright threatened to cut someone's throat with those twin blades. It made some sense now…

"But how…I mean, how could you be sure that you were training us properly if…" Galahad let his voice trail off again and studied the liquid in his tankard.

"We couldn't. We didn't. But…" Gawain sighed, searching for words to explain the convoluted reasoning the Knights had come up with amongst themselves. "In a way, Galahad, we knew it was wrong but we also hoped that our wrong was making a right." Galahad looked confused so Gawain continued. "We were hoping, Gal, that by slowing your training, we were giving all of you time to adjust, to learn and to add a few years before being sent off into your first battle."

Galahad nodded. He understood. He remembered his first battle – confusing and scary – definitely not a place for an under-trained boy. Realizing something, he looked up at Gawain.

"Gawain…"

Knowing what was about to come out of Galahad's mouth, Gawain smiled sadly.

"Yes, Galahad, my group was sent in to battle before we were ready, before we were fully trained and we," he made a circular motion which Galahad knew meant the group that had trained him, "decided that we weren't going to let that happen to the next group of Sarmatian boys."


	8. First Battle

**A/N:** This chapter is written in the story-style, not narrative. If that bothers you, take it up with Gawain. He refused to work on fitting it into the narrative that the story followed to this point. As always, constructive reviews and comments are welcome.

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There they were, scared to death, being ushered into their first battle. Well, at least preparation for their first battle. After Lucanus had declared that all Sarmatians were to be sent, some of the elders had herded the trainees together, told them to return to the barracks, gather their things and assemble at the training arena quickly. The boys did as instructed, not even speaking along the way since it might waste precious time.

The group halted upon entering the arena, overwhelmed by what was taking place. Each boy looked about, taking in the surroundings, absorbing every detail of what would be the preparation for their first battle. Lancelot, the boldest of the group, stepped forward and approached Kay, asking where they should deposit their things. Kay looked up, shaking his head and sighing. Placing his hand on Lancelot's arm to keep the boy at his side, he inclined his head and the Knights moved forward as a group, causing the boys to tighten up and look to each other for reassurance.

The Knights circled the small group slowly until they surrounded them. The boys continued to move closer together as the Knights began to separate, moving into the group, each Knight standing behind one or two of the juniors.

Gawain looked around, noting what Knights stood by which boy. He duly noted that Kay kept Lancelot at his side; Bedwyr stood behind Tristran; Tor behind Dagonet; Uwaine behind Bors… Turning, he looked and was disappointed to see, well, no one. He turned back to the group, bewildered, but the Knights had moved off with their assigned student. Kay looked up, noting that Gawain still stood, motionless. He began to move toward the boy when the doors burst open, admitting Pelleas and Agravaine, both of whom were flushed and visibly agitated. Agravaine brushed past Gawain, who had not moved, not even dared to breathe, lest he be noticed and, well, Gawain wasn't quite sure what might happen.

Kay grabbed at Agravaine's arm as he passed, whispering something through tight lips.

Agravaine paused and turned, taking in Gawain, standing, wide-eyed with gear in hand, observing the proceedings. Agravaine's head dipped a bit and he walked back to where Gawain stood.

"Come."

Gawain hesitantly followed. He knew the other boys were watching and none were envying him.

So lost was Gawain in his self-pity that he missed when Agravaine stopped and plowed into the much larger Knight. It had little impact other than to irritate Agravaine further.

"First lesson, Gawain. Open your eyes and pay attention," Agravaine hissed.

Gawain swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting his voice to answer. He set his gear down and stood, not certain what to do next.

"What?"

"N…n…nothing." Gawain stammered, caught off-guard. He looked around at the others getting ready. Bedwyr was engrossed in explaining something about dagger positioning to an equally engrossed Tristran. Dagonet was dutifully listening to Tor explaining something that included large gestures. But perhaps the one he found himself envying most was Bors; it was obvious he and Uwaine had been matched well by the booming laughter that emanated from their preparation area. Gawain looked down sullenly. It would figure that he would be stuck with Agravaine. Nothing else on this island had gone in his favour, he wasn't certain why he thought this might.

Agravaine cleared his throat. "Planning on getting dressed and joining us in battle today? Or were you thinking that unarmed would be the best approach?"

Gawain snapped out of his thoughts and realized that Agravaine was almost completely dressed, only needing to fasten his weaponry.

"No…no…I was, am, planning to…"

Agravaine held a hand up to stop the flow of words.

"Then do it. Get dressed and get ready." His voice was low and Gawain found himself obeying without further thought. He hastily put on the Roman-issue mail and breast plate, fastening it as best he could. Hearing the sigh behind him, he turned to face an annoyed looking Knight.

"Is this the best they can do?" Agravaine reached out and grabbed the attached shoulder protectors, which were pressed down deeply into the grooves of Gawain's shoulders. He began to mutter curses, some which Gawain recognized in Sarmatian (and he wisely held his tongue from acknowledging) and others in the still foreign Latin.

"Can you even lift your arms over your head?" Gawain looked blankly at Agravaine, who proceeded to raise his arms, motioning that he expected him to follow suit. Gawain tried, but was unsuccessful at getting his arms much higher than the top of his ears before the tight armour stopped his movement. Lowering his arms and exhaling sharply, Agravaine was becoming, if it were possible, even more irritated.

Abruptly, Agravaine kicked a nearby bucket, sending it crashing across the arena, following it with a tirade of curses in Sarmatian that made Gawain turn pink to the top of his ears. Everyone in the arena had stopped and was looking at Gawain, standing with his arms stretched up to the tops of his ears and Agravaine, yelling and looking like some sort of crazed animal.

"They expect you to fight. They expect you to win. But they cannot even give you armour that fits, that will allow you to move?" Agravaine was staring wildly at Gawain now, who focused his eyes downward, lowering his arms only when commanded through clenched teeth.

"Agravaine…" The calm voice of Pelleas cut through the silence. Agravaine looked from Gawain to the eldest Knight, clenching and un-clenching fists at his side. "There is no choice now." Pelleas raised a hand to stifle any protest. "We have our orders, they are very clear orders. Unless you have changed your mind, we need to get them, and us, on horses and out to the field quickly."

Gawain snuck a glance sideways at Agravaine, noting that this only seemed to intensify the…what was it Gawain was seeing? He wasn't even sure – anger, for certain, but there were other things that Gawain could not quite place. He rather figured he could, if he took time to study Agravaine's face, especially his eyes, closer but he did not really want to, so he quickly turned his attention back to his boots.

Sighing, Agravaine resigned himself to preparing Gawain as best as possible. He turned back to the youth. "Grab your weapons and follow me. We'll finish preparing as we go." Gawain bent and grabbed his weapons as Agravaine bent to collect his.

The rest of the preparations had been uneventful. The horses had been saddled and waiting; Agravaine had showed him how to secure his sword for the quickest draw while riding.

Gawain felt strangely self-conscious. He was riding slightly behind and to the left of Agravaine, as ordered. Studying the back of the Knight, he wondered not about the battle they were about to engage in, which was where he knew his mind ought to be, but instead it was on Agravaine, the man, the Knight that Gawain was now certain would be his mentor. What had made him so angry earlier? Well…besides the ill-fit of Gawain's armour. Why was he so harsh? Did he know he was one of the least-liked Knights? Furthermore, did he care?

They rode in silence, covering ground quicker than any of the boys or Knights would have liked. Soon they could hear the sounds of battle carrying to their ears and Pelleas called them to a halt.

Turning, he addressed the group. "This is not practice. Stick to your training. Watch your assigned Knight, stay close to him – he will try to watch for you as well." He stopped, obviously searching for some direction, some advice that he could offer when Bedwyr chimed in. "Do what you must to stay alive." Pelleas nodded grimly, turning to lead the group into the fray.

Gawain began to draw his sword, as he saw some of the other boys doing when Agravaine reached over and stayed his hand, shaking long braids vigorously. "Not until we are closer." Agravaine released Gawain's hand, reaching up to squeeze the youth's shoulder tightly, briefly, in reassurance, before giving it a strong pat and turning to resume his place on the outer edge, Gawain following closely.

The battle went quicker than Gawain thought it would.

There was lots of blood and yelling and steel clashing with steel; it was louder and yet quieter than Gawain imagined. He was not sure how that was possible, but it was. Perhaps because he was so wound up in the moment, trying not to let Agravaine out of his sight, focusing on Woads that seemed to appear from nowhere and attempting to locate some of the other boys on the field.

He did not see the Woad lunge at him with the dagger; the first he knew of the assault was when he felt the blade slide into his thigh. Jumping back, he thrust forward with his sword, blindly striking at whatever was in front of him. Luck was on his side. The Woad was lunging forward for another strike and impaled himself (or was it herself, Gawain wasn't quite certain through half-closed eyes) on the sword. Momentum carried the Woad half-way to the hilt, causing Gawain to shake and drop the sword. He stood, staring, as the Woad died at his feet. The faint sound of someone screaming his name carried to his ears. He turned in time to be grabbed and thrown to the ground by Agravaine, a dead Woad landing on top of him. Struggling to get up, he was pinned down. "Stay down," was shouted at him and he was too stunned and afraid to even think about disobeying. Gawain stopped struggling and lay, watching the battle through wet eyelashes, listening to shouted orders some of which he understood and some he did not. Soon enough, the Woads were retreating and the Knights were declared the winners of the day.

Gawain lay still until he felt the Woad on top of him moved. He took the hand that appeared in front of him, helping him stand on shaky legs. Some of the boys were celebrating, clapping each other on the back and cheering the Knights.

Agravaine looked to them and back to Gawain, who had briefly looked around the field but found his eyes returned to the dead Woad before him – the Woad he had killed, however inadvertently. Agravaine watched intently, studying Gawain for a clue to what was going on inside the boy.

"Gawain?"

His inquiry was answered when Gawain turned slowly toward him, tears streaking his cheeks. He reached for the boy, but before he could grab hold, Gawain leaned forward and vomited. Moving quickly, Agravaine grabbed him round the waist from behind, steadying him. Bending Gawain's knee with his, Agravaine slid them both to the ground, balancing and supporting the youth from behind as he again heaved. Agravaine rested his forehead against the cool leather encasing Gawain's back. Feeling the shudders of sickness still wracking the youth, he whispered an apology.


	9. Post First Battle

**A/N:** Back to narrative...who am I to say how Gawain's mind works...? Hope you enjoy. Remember - reviews are the fuel that keep writers writing. Yes, that was a shameless plea for you to click the little review button after you've finished your read.

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Galahad was shocked. He'd never thought about Gawain being sick from anything than, well, being sick. Battle making their workhorse sick? That seemed…wrong, somehow.

As if reading his mind, Gawain smiled slightly. "Remember, Gal, I was little more than a boy still. I'd been in training, sure, but had yet to kill anyone. The other Woads on the field that day, most of them I'd deflected and Agravaine or another Knight took care of them. But not that one…he or she was just determined…" He shook his head.

Galahad took a drink and chewed on some more bread. "So what did Agravaine do? I mean, after the battle and you got back to the fort and all…"

Gawain sighed. "Truthfully, Galahad, we rode back in complete silence. He didn't even look at me. I remember being embarrassed by being sick and crying on the field. The other boys, most of them, just seemed so much stronger." He shrugged. "I figured Agravaine was re-thinking having me as his trainee and once we got back to the fort, I'd be shoved off on someone else. I don't know why, but that thought bothered me."

Galahad held his breath, waiting for Gawain to continue. When Gawain didn't seem to be taking up the thread, he cleared his throat and motioned that he wanted his brother to continue.

"We got back to the fort, turned the horses in and were dismissed to go wash. I walked away. I hadn't gotten far when I heard footsteps behind me and that was only just before I got grabbed by the arm and dragged in the opposite direction from where I was headed. I looked to see who had grabbed me and, well, was shocked that it was Agravaine. I wanted to tell him to let go, that his grip on my arm hurt, but I couldn't, Galahad…I just couldn't. It was like my voice wouldn't work, no matter how I tried. I let him lead me to the Knights' barracks, upstairs to his room, where he finally let go of me after he shoved me inside and shut the door behind us." Gawain sat forward and shook his head. "I wasn't quite sure what was going to happen, Galahad, but I had a feeling it wasn't going to be good."

"I'm beginning to get that feeling too…" Galahad mumbled his agreement under his breath, wondering how in the world Gawain could have felt, could still feel, so attached to someone who treated him with such…well…dislike. Galahad's stomach soured so he set down his tankard, concentrating instead on nibbling a bit more bread.

Gawain shrugged, leaning forward and resting against his knees. "By the time Agravaine let me go, I was positive I was going to have a large bruise. I didn't want any part of him." He rested his forehead against folded arms. "Honestly, Gal, I was afraid. I thought Agravaine was furious with me for my poor showing on the battlefield and, well, I just wasn't sure what to expect. I was even more so when he ordered me to take off my armour and shirt and whatever else I had managed to vomit all over, which was just about everything I was wearing. While I was undressing, he was pouring water into a basin, getting out some things…cloths and some vials…"

Galahad nodded. He remembered how confused he'd been after his first battle. Dazed, disoriented, sick…he didn't truly remember how he'd gotten back to the fort, much less what had happened in the time from the end of the battle through the following morning.

"I was moving slow, and so Agravaine took the opportunity to shed his armour and shirt and wash. I remember just staring at his back, his shoulders – at the scars that he had, but also…" Gawain's voice trailed off as he tried to collect his thoughts into words. "He was bigger than Dagonet, Gal. He was just…" Gawain motioned with his hands, "he was just…wide…and, you could…see the power in him. I swear, Galahad, if Dagonet and Agravaine had ever been in a competition of strength, I don't know who would have won." Gawain sat back again. "I had thought it was always the armour that made him seem so big or the fact that often by the time you realized what was going on, he'd dropped you in the middle of the practice arena. I realized standing there staring at his back that he really was that big, that tall and that powerful."

Gawain laughed slightly and Galahad raised an eyebrow. "It was how he got his own nickname – 'big man' – from the other Knights. Though he never did argue the point if someone offered that maybe some wench had given it to him." Gawain laughed heartily at that, causing Galahad to laugh as well.

Galahad was trying to imagine the scene: this Knight, as big as Dagonet, half-dressed and washing while Gawain stood, mostly undressed staring at his back. Galahad would have laughed if it weren't for the still slightly uneasy feeling he had. He looked to his brother expectantly.

"What?"

Galahad wiggled his eyebrows which Gawain had long ago learned to interpret as meaning he needed to continue.

"Oh…yes…after the battle, I am standing in the middle of Agravaine's room in, basically, nothing, while he is washing. Well, he finished up and, basically, it was my turn. Of course, he was also now able to see where the Woad had stuck me with the knife…he told me to make sure to wash that really good with water and then he'd give me something else to wash it out with to make sure it was really clean." Gawain gritted his teeth. "So I washed while he watched. After I finished, he told me to get some clean water and sit down by the table. So I did. He knelt down next to me and proceeded to pull open the wound and re-wash it, first with the water and then with some liquid that, I swear Galahad, burned and hurt worse than anything Dagonet has ever put on any of my wounds. I thought I was going to get sick all over again."

Galahad's eyes got big. Stuff that was worse than what Dagonet had? He didn't think that was possible; Dagonet had some really horrible things that, although they made you feel better (usually), sometimes made you wonder if the illness or injury wasn't preferable in the interim. He swallowed his own feelings of illness, nodding that he was ready to hear more.

Gawain had taken the opportunity to drink, but immediately wished he hadn't as the memories came back too strongly and his own stomach threatened rebellion. He placed the tankard gingerly on the floor and leaned forward again, resting his head on his knees and breathing deeply. He hadn't anticipated this and was now uncertain not in his determination, but in his ability to continue.

After a few moments of resting and allowing his stomach to calm, he found he was able to continue.

"I didn't get sick though." He looked to Galahad, "I didn't get sick because Agravaine talked me through it, Gal. He started talking to me, really quietly, but his voice was so clear. He told me what he was doing and why, how important it was to wash out every wound, no matter how big or small really good; and to use the stuff that you could get from Pelleas because as bad as that would hurt, it would hurt more if you had to go see a healer to have a wound cleaned out later on." Gawain smiled a little. "The same things Dag is always telling you, the same things that I still yell at you for," this brought a nod from Galahad, "those were the things that Agravaine was telling me that day."

Gawain shrugged. "The wound wasn't nearly as bad as I'd thought, nor as he thought, I think." Gawain paused, turning his words over in his mind. "Well, you know what I mean – I didn't need to see a healer. Agravaine said if it didn't start to heal up on its own, then he'd take me to a healer and have some stitches put in. So he showed me how to bandage it and that was that."

Gawain could see Galahad churning all that he had said round and round in his mind and knew there were questions surfacing. So he decided to wait; take the opportunity to have something more to eat, since his stomach had settled again and the apples he had managed to sneak from under Tristran's watch looked appealing. He bit into one, still watching Galahad, who was rolling bits of bread between his fingers as he thought.

"Was he mad? I mean…was he angry with you for how you fought?"

Gawain shook his long mane. "No. I had thought he was and I asked him if he was. It was as he'd been bandaging my leg. After he finished, he sat back on the floor, looking up at me and said he wasn't. And I believed him. He said he would have been angry if I'd have tried to step forward and do more. I'd probably have ended up getting myself or someone else killed. He was starting to get irritated again and when he realized it, he stopped talking. It was like he wanted to say so much more, but he…I don't know." Gawain shrugged, searching again for words. "It was like, well, before you and me, Galahad, before we had really bonded and I felt like I could trust you and talk to you openly – remember?" He looked earnestly at Galahad, hoping the younger would recall and make his explanation easier.

Galahad bobbed his head. "Oh, I remember, Gawain. Sometimes you were so frustrated and you wouldn't say anything. I could tell something was bothering you and no matter how I questioned, you weren't saying anything."

"That's exactly what it was like for me with Agravaine – not only that day, but for a while too. He had to…well…get used to having me around, find out if he could truly put his trust in me."

"Did you feel that way with me?" The question was so quiet, Gawain almost missed it.

Looking over, he realized Galahad was studying his boots in the same intense way Gawain studied his when he asked a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. He had to smile. Of all the habits of his for Galahad to pick up that would be one of the ones he would have hoped the boy skipped.

"Yes and no, Galahad."

Dark eyes shifted up questioningly and the hurt in them was visible.

Gawain sighed and pushed his hair back. "You have to understand, Galahad, when you came to the fort, Agravaine had been buried not even a year. I was…it was…I just wasn't…" Gawain fumbled for words to try to make Galahad understand something that he himself struggled with daily. "Galahad, it was like this: I had just lost my brother. I was truly not interested in finding another. It was me and that was fine." He tried to get the other to meet his eyes, finally having to tap him under the chin to get dark eyes to meet blue. "Then some tired, sick and scrawny Sarmatian whelp rode into the fort," Gawain smiled widely at the memory, "and became my shadow." He winked at the small laugh this brought. "In all truth, Gal, you and I became brothers quicker than Agravaine and me."

Galahad watched Gawain's eyes closely. He could always tell a lie or a bluff if he could see Gawain's eyes, which was why his brother tried to hide behind that mask of hair oftentimes, not realizing he was simply giving his deception away that much quicker. Gawain was not a good liar – with him or with any of their brother Knights; he couldn't even lie to Arthur convincingly. What Galahad saw in those eyes though was truth, plain and simple. Gawain was being forthright and honest with him, which brought a smile to his face.

"Well?"

"Well, what, Galahad?"

"Well what happened after he showed you the proper way to clean your wound and he got irritated?"

"Nothing."

Galahad was stumped. This had seemed to be going somewhere; Gawain had seemed to be opening up and now... "What do you mean, 'nothing'? How can 'nothing' have happened?"

Galahad was unconsciously squashing the bread in his hands out of his own irritation until it was leaking out between his fingers. Gawain watched amusedly as the tiny bits of bread dropped.

"Are you quite done mangling that poor, innocent piece of bread?" Gawain gave a half-laugh and smirked as Galahad came to realization of what he'd been doing, shaking and clapping his hands together to try to rid them of the crumbs.

Scowling in Gawain's direction, Galahad wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. "You can't just say that 'nothing' happened, Gawain. You can't. Something had to have happened."

"Well, all right, you are correct Galahad, something else did happen. Agravaine found a shirt for me to wear, I wiped the vomit and blood from my pants, finished dressing and we went to meet the others for dinner."

"What?!" It was less of a question and more of a screech.

"What what, Galahad? Why don't you believe me? Whose story is this, after all?"

"All that and you simply got dressed and went to dinner? No talk? No words of encouragement or praise?"

"That was what I said, wasn't it?"

It was Galahad's turn to fumble and stumble for words. "Well…yes…but…still… I mean…come on…there has to have been more."

"And this is my story, is it not?"

"Well, yes."

Gawain held up a hand to stifle any protest. "Then you should stop interrupting and listen, eh?"

Galahad closed his mouth into a tight line.

"You see, Galahad, when Agravaine became irritated, he shut up. He would say his piece and then he would shut up. Not say a word to anyone about anything. That silence could go on for, oh, days sometimes; really until whenever he was through being irritated, and there was nothing you could say or do to hurry it along. In fact, trying to coax or goad him into talking would just get you hurt." He looked pointedly at Galahad, who had put his hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. "So, yes Galahad, nothing else happened that night. Agravaine had become irritated about something about the battle and that was the end of any conversation for the night. With me, with any of the other Knights, with anyone."

They sat in silence for a bit until Gawain realized that Galahad was staring at him.

"What, Galahad?"

"Mmmmph."

It was Gawain's turn to look confused. "What are you saying?"

"Mmmph mmmph mmph."

Exasperated, Gawain reached over and pulled Galahad's hand off his mouth. "What are you saying?"

"I said it sounds like someone else I know." Galahad smirked as the target was hit. "Though, I have to say, I have rarely seen your fits of silence last longer than a day, maybe two…three, at the very most, if it's because of Lancelot." It was his turn to wink and smile while elbowing the larger man good-naturedly.

Gawain laughed. "So there you have it, Galahad. That was how Agravaine got to be my big brother."

Galahad grabbed an apple and bit down, chewing thoughtfully. It was true, Gawain had, basically, answered his question; but he wanted to know more. He wanted to know why and how Gawain could love his brother so much and be so hurt that it drove him to his knees, sobbing and grieving.

As it would happen, Galahad didn't have to employ any of the information gathering techniques he'd learned through the years. It seemed that once the floodgates had opened, Gawain was unable to shut them. After a pause so he could finish his apple and wash it down, Gawain again picked up the narrative.


	10. More Information

Gawain settled back against the cool of the stones. Galahad twirled a strip of dry meat, thinking and unconsciously humming softly. Gawain closed his eyes and focused on observing the boy sitting next to him. He knew that the humming meant Galahad was deep in thought, most likely trying to make sense of things. It didn't make sense, Gawain would be the first to admit; his attachment to Agravaine didn't make sense with what he had just told the boy. He snorted at that thought. Galahad was not a boy – far from it, in fact; but he would always be a boy to Gawain. It was that boy that Gawain sought to protect from everything and wondered if Agravaine had viewed him the same way – as the always younger brother to watch over… He shrugged. The question no longer mattered since Agravaine was no longer… Shaking his head and tapping it lightly against the stone just to feel the solid against his skull, securing him to this world, he cleared his throat.

"I know it is not much of a start and probably less brotherly or, well, even just less friendly than you thought it would be." Gawain looked at Galahad for confirmation, though he didn't truly need to see the latter nod agreement to know he'd been right. "It was just how it was. How Agravaine was."

"How long did it go on like that, Gawain?" Galahad's voice was quiet, as if he were almost afraid to hear the answer.

Gawain drew in a breath and pursed his lips, slowly releasing the air as he thought. "If I had to guess, Gal, I would say that it went on being…well, not a close brotherly relationship for probably a year or more." Galahad choked in disbelief and Gawain simply nodded. "I told you, Gal, Agravaine was not…friendly. It isn't that he wasn't well liked – he was, ask anyone. He was just, well, hard to get to know."

Galahad drew in a deep breath. He was getting more confused as the tale went on. How, on all the plains of Sarmatia, could Gawain be so attached to someone who seemed so different from him? Maybe Agravaine was this great Knight and warrior who taught Gawain everything he knew, but how did that warrant such loyalty, such friendship, such love?

"He was hard to get to know until you got to know him. I don't know how to explain it any better, Galahad. It was just…how he was. He told me once that he didn't let anyone get to close because, well, you just never knew how long anyone was going to actually be here – including you. The next battle could be your last. Or the next fight in the mess, if one of the Romans or locals got it into their head to take on a Knight. You just didn't know and so it helped to keep a distance."

Gawain stopped talking to take a drink and gnaw at some bread.

"Then…I don't understand…"

Gawain looked up questioningly. Galahad was beginning to wonder what he was not seeing about this Knight. Apparently, it made perfect sense to Gawain, but Galahad was still baffled. "What was it that everyone liked? I mean, if everyone admired him and looked up to him and all that…how? If no one got close to him, how could they know enough to like him? And why? He doesn't seem very…" Galahad let his voice trail off, not wanting to provoke Gawain by insulting his mentor.

Gawain laughed. "They knew he was not someone to cross. Which would mean that he should have been feared; and he was, in a way. He was incredibly loyal, probably too loyal sometimes so that he didn't always try to see both sides of stories before making his judgment and taking action." Gawain shook his head, obviously remembering a time or two that this had come into play. "But that loyalty, that fierceness…it's hard to explain, Gal. Those things seemed to attract everyone to him, made you want to be close to him. I guess you had to experience Agravaine to understand. And, unfortunately, that was an opportunity you never had…" Gawain's voice trailed off.

"Tell me then. You said he used to talk to you about everything, so tell me what he told you. What he talked to you about."

Gawain gave a small, half-hearted laugh. "That would take more time than we have, Gal. Much more time than we have."

"Then tell me what would help me know him best. There had to have been things that made him Agravaine. Like what you said about him not letting people get too close."

Gawain let out a deep breath. "That's true. He didn't believe in getting too close to anyone, which, I don't understand why he let me get so close…but he did." Gawain's voice trailed off again and Galahad decided to let him be. Maybe a pause to think would bring the words forward again.

Patience was rewarded when Gawain again picked up the narrative.

"He disapproved of Bors and Vanora. Not so much of them being together, but when Vanora was with their first child, Agravaine didn't approve at all. He thought it was a bad idea – families that is." The perplexed look on Galahad's face told Gawain that more explanation was necessary. "Agravaine didn't disapprove of families; he was very much looking forward to having a family of his own one day – just not here, not while he was a Knight in service to Rome. He didn't think it was a good idea for any of us. '_The less ties you have to anyone here, the better, Gawain._' He used to tell me that a lot when he thought I was getting a bit too close to any one woman. '_They will distract you without meaning to. While you are on that battlefield, while you are riding to battle, you need your focus there; on what is happening, not here on some fight you had with her or straining to return because she is carrying your child. Those are not things that make for a Knight his brothers can depend on._' Was he right? I don't know. I don't think Bors is any less dependable than any of the rest of us. But Agravaine did. To him it was always a question of where Bors' focus really lay."

"And he actually said this to Bors?"

Gawain nodded.

"And to Van?"

Gawain nodded again.

"Agravaine was not known for keeping his opinions to himself very well. I mean, he could, but he usually chose not to."

Galahad was incredulous. "He told both of them how he felt about them having children and lived?" Galahad laughed, knowing that had it been anyone else, either Bors or Van would have put them in their place quicker than…well…before the offender would likely have even finished talking.

"What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry, Gawain. I don't mean to laugh, but I am trying to imagine how Agravaine managed to tell them that he thought they were wrong and survive, to be honest."

"Well, I suppose it helped that the other Knights were standing there as well. Though Agravaine wouldn't have cared if Bors or Van tried to come after him, truthfully." Gawain shrugged. "It was his opinion, he was going to say it and he didn't care what you thought about it."

Galahad was still impressed that this man had said something like that to Vanora and somehow managed to live. "Did it cause an argument?" Galahad was truly anxious to know how, not so much Bors, but Vanora had reacted.

Gawain cleared his throat. "If you chose to argue his opinion, he would be happy to argue it. If you chose to take a swing at him, that was fine with him as well. Just remember that though you started it, he would finish it; and it didn't matter much if you were man or woman. Taking a swing at Agravaine, in his eyes, meant he was defending himself, and it didn't matter who you were. The only thing that mattered was that he was going to finish the fight and be the one walking away, not being carried to the healer." He focused on Galahad; not at all surprised by the shock he saw register on the younger's face.

"You mean that, if for whatever reason, some woman took a swing at him, he would…well, he would… Come on, Gawain. That doesn't seem right. I mean, you've already said he was as big as Dag and I can't imagine Dag taking a swing at a woman, defense or not." Galahad was perplexed. "It would…he would seriously injure her."

"Yeah."

Gawain's response was so dry, so matter-of-fact, it made Galahad shiver. Somehow he knew that this had been demonstrated on at least one occasion.

"If you must know Galahad, yes, it was demonstrated on a couple occasions. It wasn't as though he sought the fight, it just seemed… It was well-known that Agravaine was not someone to irritate, as I've said. And, well, some people as you know, have to find out firsthand – cannot accept being told." Gawain shrugged, took another drink and picked up a piece of bread. "But you see, Galahad, he wasn't going out, finding people to beat up or anything. And he would never have abused a woman just to abuse her. I saw him step into and stop things like that, just like any of us would. He just…well…when, in his mind, Agravaine felt he was defending himself, he did whatever that meant, no matter who you were." Gawain stopped, sensing he hadn't helped Galahad any, but not knowing what else to say.

Galahad sat, pulling apart some dried meat and Gawain could tell he was thinking hard on how what he'd just been told fit into place. The latter could only shake his head, knowing the confusing, contradicting image being conjured in the former's mind.

Looking up from the strips he'd teased into fragments, Galahad looked past Gawain into the night. "I have to tell you Gawain, the more I hear, the less I think I would have liked or been liked by Agravaine and I don't quite understand how you and he managed to become brothers. You are nothing like that, like him…"

Galahad's voice trailed off at the snort and laugh from Gawain.

"What?"

"Are you certain on that, Gal?"

Galahad peered at his brother, not certain what Gawain was getting at. He knew Gawain; knew that his brother was one of the biggest push-over's in the collection of Knights. Well, unless it was Lancelot that he was dealing with, but even then, Galahad knew of many times he'd thought Lancelot had gone too far and Gawain would surely beat him into bloody unconsciousness, only to have Gawain suddenly stop and simply walk away.

As Galahad's concentration deepened, his eyebrows rose unconsciously and he looked to his brother for clarification. Gawain simply shrugged and smiled slightly.

Quietly he added, "I was not always the calm Knight sitting here next to you. Trust me, Galahad; I have made my share of mistakes. Besides, if you have not noticed by now, I will tell you that very often, it is not who you are but rather who you are with that matters." Gawain sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "That was also among the first lessons, Gal. Always be aware of who you are with and, more importantly, how they are perceived – it could mean an evening of peace or an evening of fights. It could also be the difference between being alive or dead." Gawain focused on Galahad. "Why did you think the Romans left you alone with such little trouble and continued to leave you alone, at least more alone than some of the others?" He added when Galahad began to protest.

Galahad shrugged. He hadn't truly thought about it. He'd just been grateful for Gawain's intervention and continued watchfulness during those months that he'd still been trying to adjust to life at the fort.

Gawain leaned in. "It was because they knew that Agravaine had been my teacher and that the student did not stray far from the lessons. I will say it again, Galahad; they knew Agravaine was not someone to cross and so they knew – or at least thought – that I was the same and I did not try to discourage those thoughts. Likewise, when I stood for you and began teaching you, they assumed that you would be like me…which would make you similar to Agravaine. Do you see now, Galahad? Does it make sense?"

Galahad bobbed his head. It was clear now. He hadn't thought it through this way, but it made sense. Whether a correct perception or not, it was still the best one that the Romans or locals had to go by without actually taking the risk and finding out for themselves. He felt rather sheepish that he had not noticed or figured this out before tonight.

"Don't worry, Gal. Agravaine had to explain it to me as well. I guess I just, well, I just figured you would figure it out. You seemed to figure lots of things out and so I guess I just…I guess I shouldn't have. Sorry."

Gawain looked away, obviously bothered by what he felt to be a shortcoming in his brothering skills.

Galahad smiled, leaning over to punch him in the shoulder. Gawain looked up, puzzled.

"Well then, brother," Galahad dragged out 'brother', sounding much like Arthur in his tendency to drag out the Sarmatian names, "you have gravely overestimated me. It would seem you have plenty to tell and little time to do it in. I highly suggest you get talking."

* * *

**A/N:** Well...now it's on to the rough going. Gawain isn't back from his "extended sabbatical" and I am outta pre-written. If you see the big lug, send him back - please. Thanks.


	11. Question and Answer

**Disclaimer:** Been a while so I just want to remind readers that I don't own them in any way, shape or form. They just like the beer I have in the fridge and the snack selection in the pantry.

**A/N:** Be advised, the language gets rough as the chapter progresses and Gawain demonstrates his "larger vocabulary".

* * *

Gawain rubbed his shoulder and laughed. Only Galahad could make him forget, make him look to the brighter side of life so effortlessly. Unfortunately, he could not make it last and Gawain's smile again turned sad as memories came back. Where to continue…? He wasn't entirely certain and so he let out a sigh.

Galahad took the opportunity to study his brother while trying to picture exactly what Agravaine might have looked like.

"What tribe was he from?"

"Aorsi – farther north than where I am from though." Gawain smiled slightly. "Of all the things he missed in Sarmatia, Agravaine claimed it was the snow of his home that he truly longed for. Said it wasn't like the heavy, wet stuff that falls on our heads…and at night, it shined like stars…it was the snow that he wanted to see again, to run through again…" Gawain's voice trailed off and he looked upward, beginning an intense study of the stars.

This new information made some sense to Galahad, but not much. He was still struggling to piece together the seemingly violent, brutal warrior with the calm, quiet Knight sitting next to him. They did not mesh and Galahad did not see how to make them mesh.

"Galahad…" Gawain began slowly, eyes never leaving his star study, "I am trying to think of some way to relate all this to you but all I seem to do is confuse you more. Ask me what you want to know because I just don't…"

Galahad put his hand on his friend's arm and squeezed. As long as he knew he could ask and Gawain would answer… Galahad smiled a bit.

"What did he think of Arthur?"

Gawain snorted and looked down, picking at the seam on his pants. Why did it seem Galahad always went after the hard questions? Why couldn't the pup have asked what colour eyes or hair Agravaine had? Sighing, Gawain smiled a bit.

"He didn't care much for Arthur at first. None of us did. Arthur was young and un-tested when he took command. Pelleas was the Knight the Romans went to and gave authority to issue commands in the field, but the Sarmatians, we looked to Agravaine and Kay. When Arthur took over, Pelleas was already gone, which left Kay and Agravaine vying for control or command from the Sarmatian side… Arthur decided that he preferred Kay to Agravaine, which did not sit well, obviously, and Agravaine made that known. He felt second-in-command should have been his, not Kay's and most definitely not Lancelot's. It also did not help that during our second mission under Arthur, we lost three Knights…whether through Arthur's fault or their own, that battle yielded one of the worst losses the Knights had suffered in some time. Agravaine made damn certain Arthur knew this." Gawain stopped, closing his eyes and remembering the heated arguments that ensued – both between Agravaine and Arthur and Agravaine and anyone who tried to defend Arthur.

"How long did it take before they got along? Before Agravaine accepted that Kay and then Lancelot were Arthur's seconds…?"

"Honestly, I don't think Agravaine ever accepted it. I know he never liked it. And as to him and Arthur getting along, they…tolerated each other. We all knew that Agravaine and Arthur could not be left in each other's company for very long. I suppose it did not help Arthur's opinion when, during one mission, Agravaine went completely against his orders…"

Galahad choked on the swig of wine he'd taken and gaped at Gawain. Gone completely against orders from Arthur? Gawain simply nodded.

"Arthur issued one command; Agravaine issued another completely contradictory command."

"Which…?"

"The Sarmatians followed Agravaine. Because we knew Arthur was wrong and Agravaine was right. The Romans followed Arthur and almost half of them were lost. I think the only reason Arthur did not have Agravaine's head was because of that. Agravaine was punished for disobeying a direct command and issuing a contradictory command…and he never did let Arthur forget that he'd saved the Sarmatian Knights so, as he told him, _Arthur, your incompetence can cost their lives another day, when I am not on the field, which, sadly for you, I am not planning on being any time soon…_"

Galahad blinked and looked at Gawain, trying to discern if he was hearing the truth. Catching Galahad's eye, Gawain smirked.

"I told you Gal, Agravaine was not quiet with his opinions and he didn't give a damn who you were. If Agravaine thought you were an idiot or made a poor decision, he was going to let you know. Though I suspect he took overwhelming pleasure pointing out mistakes Arthur and Lancelot made." Gawain shook his head and whistled softly. "Toward the end of his service though, even Agravaine had to admit that Arthur had become a competent command. They acquired a mutual respect, was I think how Arthur termed it. In Agravaine's words, Arthur had learned to value Agravaine for the workhorse he was, to trust in Agravaine's abilities and judgment and, most importantly of all, to stay the fuck out of his way." Gawain smiled at his late brother's assertions, knowing deep inside that Agravaine had been correct.

Galahad laughed a bit, more at Gawain's smile than at the words he'd spoken. He truly couldn't imagine anyone not liking Arthur's command, but then since he'd never known any except Arthur…

"It was a different time, Galahad. Remember, Lucanus had been in charge of the fort, of the Knights though he really did not want to be and unlike Arthur, Lucanus didn't care if we lived or died. When he wasn't devising ways to get us killed, he was attempting to force Roman customs and beliefs on us. Priests saw to it that there was prayer to their god before every mission. Beards are not the custom in the Roman army…so we were all clean-shaven. There were only two things he did not attempt to touch: the length and braiding of our hair and our burial rites. And out of those two, only our hair was completely exempt. He used to send his priest out, after we had conducted our burial, to do whatever it is they do to their dead." Gawain smiled sadly. "That was one thing Agravaine made me promise, swear to him, that if he died before leaving this island, I would keep Lucanus and his priests far, far away from his grave…"

"And did you?"

"Did I what, Galahad?"

"Did you keep Lucanus and the priests away?"

Gawain leaned closer to Galahad. "I didn't have to. You see, by then, Lucanus had long since been recalled to Rome. Such a pity the bastard never made it…" Laughing darkly, Gawain settled back against the stone, closing his eyes and letting himself become lost in memories.

Galahad shivered involuntarily, trying not to imagine all the possible connotations Gawain's words and laughter carried – and falling short. From what he understood, the Roman deserved every bit of what Gawain's tone implied, but that didn't mean Galahad's stomach approved.

Watching Galahad's mind churn through all the possible scenarios, Gawain realized that Galahad truly never knew the sort of trouble he'd been able to get into or get dragged into, as the case sometimes was.

Gawain let out a small laugh, startling Galahad. "Perhaps, Galahad, perhaps I have depicted things incorrectly. I was not the quiet Knight with the even temperament sitting here. When you came here, I had calmed a fair amount. Agravaine's death did much to calm me. Not at first, of course, but when the realization sank in…for some reason, I became…less like Agravaine, I guess." Casting a sideways glance at Galahad, Gawain smirked at memories.

"What do you mean, became less like Agravaine?"

"I mean, Galahad, I…learned to laugh more, to be open to my brothers more. Not that I still didn't have a temper, especially around Lancelot, but I became much better at controlling it. Maybe because Agravaine was no longer around to back me up, or intercede for me, or…damnit, he was no longer around to simply be Agravaine and if he wasn't here to be Agravaine, it was really fucking hard to be Gawain…at least the Gawain I was used to being."

Tears sprang fresh to Gawain's eyes and he roughly wiped at them. Getting to his feet, Gawain stood still for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to hold back the resentment he felt welling up. Turning, he scowled at Galahad.

"For a long time, I lived knowing that anyone – and I do mean anyone, Galahad – who messed with me, who crossed my path, was not only going to deal with me, but ultimately they would deal with Agravaine. Not a good prospect by anyone's account. Romans, locals and brothers alike wanted no piece or parcel of an agitated Agravaine…or an agitated Gawain, to be honest."

Gawain's voice lowered and he leaned down so Galahad could hear clearly. "I remember one time, Galahad, one time Ector decided to make some of my business his own. Despite being warned by numerous brothers to drop it, he just kept on teasing me, poking and prodding. You see, Lancelot and I had gotten into an argument around Lancelot's assertions that I was unable to keep a particular wench satisfied between the sheets… Words were exchanged between Lancelot and I, it progressed to shoves and ended with punches thrown and us wrestling around on the floor. Brothers pulled Lancelot and me apart, but Ector wouldn't let it die. He said something and I turned and broke his nose. One punch and he was on the floor, screaming and bleeding. Everyone, including me, was stunned and then Lancelot laughed; I went after him again, swinging at anyone who got in my way. I got hold of his neck – which I fully intended to break – and nobody was getting me to let go. Finally, Kay and Agravaine arrived and somehow they got me off Lancelot."

Gawain stopped and scratched at the stones, seemingly waiting on some input from Galahad who, for his part, could only sit and stare at his brother. Galahad knew sometimes Lancelot's teasing drove Gawain to the edge of reason, but to be within breaths of breaking his neck… Silence fell between them and for the first time he could recall, Galahad felt uncomfortable in his brother's presence.

"I left as soon as I realized it had been Agravaine who pulled me off Lancelot and backed me away, maneuvering me so Lancelot became out of reach. I turned and left, shoving everyone out of my way. I found out later that another fight had nearly erupted when Agravaine started yelling at Lancelot, threatening to pick-up where I'd left off and, of all people, Tristran got between them and advised Agravaine that if he wanted to continue, Tristran would be happy to step outside with him and…pursue the discussion, was how I think they said Tristran put it."

"And that stopped him?"

"Wouldn't it have stopped you?"

"Well, yes, but that's me and I didn't figure…I wouldn't have guessed much frightened Agravaine…"

"Don't say frightened, Galahad. Never connect that word with Agravaine. He was not frightened of Tristran. Let me put it this way, Galahad: I know, for a fact, there were a few Knights that Agravaine was not…eager or willing or inclined to test, Tristran being among them. It had nothing at all to do with fear and everything to do with simply not wanting to find out their full range of capabilities. If you were to ask them, the Knights on his list had similar and, believe me, Agravaine topped those. Agravaine could be hot-tempered and judgmental and vicious and brutal and nasty…but he was most definitely not stupid or fearful. It also helped that Tristran's mentor was Bedwyr – someone Agravaine gave every bit of due respect and to start a fight with Tristran would be akin to starting one with Bedwyr." Gawain snorted and shook his head.

"How much trouble did you get into?"

Gawain laughed. "Surprisingly, Galahad, none." He smiled at the look of disbelief Galahad shot him. "Anyone who asked questions was told Lancelot and Ector started it, I simply finished it."

Again silence fell between them. Galahad's mind was reeling; trying to grasp this new side of Gawain, fit it into the puzzle his brother had become.

"We did many things, Galahad, many things that I am neither proud nor ashamed of. They were simply things we did."

"Like…"

"Like slaughtering an entire encampment of Woads that we had been sent on patrol to watch; we decided that better than reporting their whereabouts and movements would be eliminating them. So we did. It was just…what we did. I don't even remember which one of us suggested it first – we just kind of agreed it was what should be done and we did it. Got into plenty of trouble from Arthur, but we also knew we had saved our brothers from having to go into battle. Which was right? I don't know. Agravaine got into bigger trouble for that than I. Arthur held him solely responsible for that incident."

Gawain gave a half-laugh. He was quite certain now that Galahad thought Agravaine some sort of deranged monster and perhaps was beginning to view him the same. Why could he not convey clearly the duality that had been Agravaine…an aggressive and brutal and violent bastard but also a warm and thoughtful and loyal brother whose overriding goal seemed to be getting as many of them back to Sarmatia as possible? That somehow, someway, Gawain missed Agravaine so intensely that at times it was actual, physical pain? Why could he only seem to confuse Galahad more and more?

Watching Galahad fidget with some bread, Gawain leaned against the small wall.

"He was what Rome made him, Galahad. Rome wanted a killer to send out to the battlefield, kill as many Woads as possible, do the work that," here Gawain let out a small snort, "truthfully, Galahad, keeps the blood off their hands and the nightmares from their sleep. They do not go to sleep only to dream of being chased by dead Woads or captured and tortured… You know; you've been in those dreams, fighting and screaming and clawing, only to wake up cold and sweaty and thankful that you are tangled in your blanket, not some Woad trap." Gawain smiled grimly. "Believe me, Galahad, Agravaine suffered those same nightmares, woke in those same cold sweats and thanked the goddess for her mercy that it was only a dream. He did not acquire a taste or a lust for the kill – at least not any more than the rest of us. Don't judge him too harshly, Galahad. That's all I ask of you."

Galahad cleared his throat and stared past Gawain's shoulder into the inky blackness. "I have to be honest, Gawain, and you may hate me for this, but Agravaine sounds vile and I would try my damnedest to stay far, far away from." Green eyes sought blue, not at all surprised by the hurt they found there. "I am sorry, Gawain, but I just don't see how you got along and, truthfully, why you would even want to bother."

"There were times that we had our own go-rounds, Galahad, Agravaine and I did. We did not always see eye-to-eye. But we were always brothers. Always. That was first and foremost. Women came and went. Battles were won and lost. I knew him, I trusted his judgment without question on many things because most of the time, he was proven right. You might not have liked his way of handling things, but you could not ignore his ability, his knowledge or his sheer stubbornness. And not just me, but any of our brothers knew they could approach him to discuss anything – so long as you weren't delving into his personal affairs. That topic was strictly off-limits to all but a very, very select few. I talked to him endlessly about everything from women to battle tactics to what he was doing when he received his paper of passage from Rome…"


	12. I Will Go Home

**A/N:** This one again breaks with the narrative style. As with the previous non-narrative chapter, I hope it is not terribly disruptive.

* * *

"You won't stay?" The voice was hopeful, almost child-like in its inquiry.

Agravaine held back a laugh of disbelief and shook his head.

"Why would I, Gawain? If I have my freedom, why should I stay here?" He paused thoughtfully before continuing softly, "No, Gawain, I will be gone as soon as I can after I get my paper of passage. I will go home." With that, Agravaine leaned back and closed his eyes.

Gawain watched his mentor, his friend, his only true brother and fought back tears. How could Agravaine do this to him? How could he say that he would leave without so much as a thought?

As if reading Gawain's mind, Agravaine turned his head toward the young Knight and opened one eye.

"Gawain…it has nothing to do with you. It is just…" Agravaine paused, searching for words, "…it is…" He stopped and ran a hand through long hair, tugging at some knotted strands. "Blood," he began again, having collected his words, "let me ask you this – if, in my fifteen years of service, Rome was unable to kill me, why would I want to stay and give them any more opportunity?" He looked pensively at the youngster, hoping his reason made sense.

Gawain blinked back a fresh onslaught of tears. He could see Agravaine's point, he grudgingly admitted.

"You will understand so much more, so much better when you have been here long enough, Gawain. Trust me."

Gawain nodded, biting at his lower lip.

"What will you go home to?"

Agravaine shrugged, the rough linen of his shirt scraping against the stone. Gawain thought he read uncertainty in his movement and became hopeful that this might just be an opening to get him to stay.

"If you do not know, how can you be so certain or intent on leaving? Isn't it better to know your situation than to approach it blindly?" Gawain tried to use some of the logic he'd been taught when approaching a fight.

Of course, Agravaine recognized the tactic and smiled. "Gawain…"

"But Agravaine, you have always said that when you are approaching a situation, whether it is a battle or a fight or a discussion, you should always know as much as possible. It will only weigh in your favour and may, in fact, be the very thing that secures your victory…"

Agravaine held up a hand to curtail the tide.

"You will not talk me into staying here. When I receive my freedom, I intend to seize it and everything that it brings. But I intend to do that back in Sarmatia. Not here." He shook his head. "I will go home, Gawain and not you, Arthur, or anyone else will talk me into staying." He glanced sideways at his companion, slightly disturbed by the pursuit of the topic.

They fell into silence that was anything but its usual companionable nature. There was an underlying restlessness that finally made Agravaine sigh.

"Blood?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why does it bother you so that I will return to Sarmatia? That I will not say here? What would you have me do, serve my fifteen years and your fifteen years as well?"

Agravaine could not contain a derisive snort and its accompanying laugh. He regretted it as soon as he turned and looked at Gawain, who was examining him through tear-filled lashes.

"Oh dear gods, Gawain…" He reached for the youth, who pulled away and pressed harder against the cold stone. "You truly thought that I…that for some reason…" Agravaine stopped and released a sigh. He had never thought that Gawain thought… He closed his eyes and felt his stomach sink. His head fell forward into his hands and he berated himself yet again for allowing this to happen.

"Gawain…Blood…" Agravaine tried again, only to have Gawain stand and attempt to move past him to the stairs. Rising quickly, he prevented passage, grabbing for Gawain's shoulders. Gawain resisted, swinging his arms and trying to push the elder, larger Knight out of his path so he could access the stairs, then the expansiveness of the fort and, ultimately, his quarters where he could bolt the door and keep out…everyone. Agravaine knew this and also knew that despite the resistance, he could easily back Gawain against the wall and prevent him from leaving. He knew Gawain knew this as well. So he did the only thing he could – he let the boy pass.

Momentarily stunned by the sudden obstacle removal, Gawain simply stood and readied himself for whatever Agravaine was going to throw at him. For his part, Agravaine took two steps to the side, providing Gawain with clear access to the stairs. Gawain looked at the elder, who appeared to be studying the stone wall to his side. Saying nothing further, Gawain charged down the stairs, across the fort and into the refuge of his room. Agravaine sighed as he listened to the heavy boots and could almost hear the door bolt sliding into place. Looking to the sky, he took a deep breath, wiping at a bit of wetness in the corner of his eye.

* * *

The new day came, unannounced and un-welcomed by many; most especially the Sarmatian Knights. It only brought another day of servitude, another day when lives would potentially be laid on the line in battles not of their choosing. Today though, the gods must have been smiling on them. It was raining and chilly. As much as they did not like those weather conditions, they had come to learn that the Woads were not fond of them either. Hopefully it would be a quiet day.

Agravaine waited until he heard many doors open and shut, the greetings of brothers and sound of many boots retreating for breakfast. Jols had brought word that Arthur was feeling a bit under the weather and, therefore, canceling this morning's briefing. The Knights had quietly celebrated. It was nothing personal against Arthur; it just meant that unless a dire emergency arose, they would get to spend the day comfortably ensconced in the fort.

Rising, Agravaine shook out his boots before putting them on. Stepping out into the hallway, he strode to Gawain's room. The boy had retreated there last night and not been seen nor heard from since. He was not worried, but he knew that allowing their discussion to fester would not do either of them good. Stopping at the door, he bowed his head and knocked rapidly five times, paused and repeated the sequence. It was their signal of identity to each other. He listened closely and after a few moments heard the sound of someone scuffling across the floor. Shortly after the bolt slid away and the scuffling beat a path back across the room, causing Agravaine to smile slightly and shake his head.

Entering the room quickly, he turned and bolted the door behind him. Once they were noticed absent from breakfast, chances were good someone would come to track them down and attempt to drag them to eat. At least if anyone tried, the bolted door would send a message that the room's occupants did not wish to be disturbed.

Gawain sat on his bed, studying his thin blanket. He looked up when the weight of the heavier man sitting down made the bed creak. That was the only sound that permeated the room; neither knew what to say. Gawain was truly ashamed for bolting and holing up in his room…and for voicing his dismay at Agravaine's plan to return to Sarmatia. Agravaine was simply uncertain what to say. He had not expected Gawain's reaction and, though he had spent all night thinking, could not explain his.

Agravaine cleared his throat. "Gawain…Blood…we need to talk." He paused and waited for some acknowledgement. When Gawain did nothing except furrow his brow and focus harder on the blanket, Agravaine reached out and cupped the blonde's chin, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes.

He began again, softly. "Blood, I will not stay here once my service is over." He felt the tug as Gawain sought to free his chin, to break eye contact, and tightened his grip. "I will not stay. I will return to Sarmatia. I do not know what awaits me there, but I know it is not what waits for me here. There will be no Woads stalking me, no Romans seeking an opening on which to capitalize…" He peered hard into the blue eyes that met his. "I will go home, Blood, and nothing will change that. I will not be like Pelleas or Bedwyr and give my whole life to Rome. I vowed that when I got to this place; once I got my freedom, I would be gone, out of Rome's servitude, out of its reach and as far away from their influence as possible. That far away somewhere is Sarmatia, Gawain." He released the other's chin, letting it fall to the boy's increasingly large chest.

Gawain's voice was so soft, Agravaine had to ask him to repeat his words and lean in to hear them the second time.

"But what will I do? How will I get along? Who will watch over me and help me…" the tears were beginning to spring fresh, "and who will be my big brother?" Gawain looked up pleadingly.

Agravaine felt the pang of guilt and closed his eyes. He would not let the boy see that despite his insistence, despite almost bragging that he would be done and gone from this forsaken place, it would be one of the most difficult rides he would make.

"You will survive, Blood. I have taught you well and you will survive. You have your brothers – they will take my place just as mine took the place of my big brother when…" Agravaine's voice trailed off. His big brother had not made it back to Sarmatia, and it was probably best not to remind Gawain of that now. He took a deep breath. "Gawain, the point is that you will be fine. You will rely more deeply on the others instead of just me – that is the way it should be, anyway. The brotherhood of Knights working together, as one unit, as one mind…that is what I have been trying to get you to understand, to embrace, not the idea of a singular Knight fighting for his own victory or glory." He searched Gawain's face for recognition that this most important lesson had indeed been embedded in the young Knight's mind. He was relieved when the reaction was a raised chin, the cessation of tears and a firm nod.

This brought a smile to Agravaine's face.

"And now, Gawain, may we please go to breakfast and stop talking about something that is still years away…?" Agravaine stood and extended his hand to Gawain, pulling him up off the bed and toward the door.


	13. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

Sorry if you've reached this page excited for a story update and all you're getting is my rambling update.

My home computer system has died – the blue screen of doom, Windows won't start up…it's good and dead - I even kicked it to be certain. A wonderful friend is working to restore the system and salvage everything he can…but there are no guarantees – and no date for this to get done by since he's doing it in his spare time and, well, pretty much for free. For now all I have is my work system and we all know how funny employers can be about using work systems for "non-work pursuits".

I do have a HUGE favour to ask though. 'Brother' has been getting good reading numbers (my profuse thanks for this), but the review numbers have been on the low side and I'm at a loss.

Would you take a moment to leave me some input about the story: how's it reading?; what do you like?; what don't you like?; etc. Anonymous reviews are enabled, so if you don't want to leave your name, you don't need to. If you prefer, head over to my profile and send me a PM… I'm just really wondering what the trouble is with the story thus far. Please don't wait for me to post the very last chapter before you let me know what worked/didn't work, especially since as of right now, I have no idea when that last chapter might be forthcoming.

Thanks so much.

Best,

~Gargoyle13


	14. Go 'Rounds

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. Some days I don't even like them.

**A/N:** Since it's been a while, just a gentle reminder, this fic is shifting the timeline and supposing that Galahad did not arrive in Britain with Gawain's grouping but came to the island a bit later.

* * *

Laughter had not been the reaction Gawain expected, yet he could hear Galahad trying to suppress it. To his credit, he wasn't laughing loudly…but it was infuriating nonetheless.

"What is so funny, Galahad?"

"I am sorry, Gawain. I…just…" Galahad paused to take a breath. "If that is what you call a go-round between you and Agravaine…" He could barely suppress a giggle even as he reached over to pat his brother's shoulder. "What are our disagreements? Wars? Because, no offense, but that was…almost funny, Gawain. I mean, picturing you pleading with him to stay after his term of service ended." Galahad could no longer suppress his laughter, especially when he locked eyes with an infuriated Gawain. He wasn't sure why it amused him so, he just knew it did and he burst into shoulder-shaking laughter.

Gawain closed his eyes and gathered every shred of patience he could muster. He heard the coughing as the pup struggled to bring himself back under control.

"Done?" Gawain's voice was icy and Galahad knew he needed to sober up and stop giggling if he wanted Gawain's story to continue. Nodding assent vigorously, Galahad reached for something to drink, hoping that would help.

"For your information, that was not…it was not…" Gawain searched for words as Galahad studied him, unsure what his brother was trying to say. Running a hand through his mane, Gawain let out an exasperated breath. "Damnit, Galahad, don't you get it? There was more to that than the disagreement than me whining to him about departing."

Galahad held up a hand. "I got it, Gawain. Trust me. The little pup's head," he tapped his skull for show, "isn't as dense as everyone thinks. Sometimes." Instead of his bit of levity making his brother snort with laughter, it seemed to infuriate Gawain more.

"What do you want to hear about our go-rounds, Galahad? Huh? Do you want to hear about times I went after him? Or would you rather hear about the times others jumped between us and kept him from coming after me?" Gawain's voice was a snarl. "Perhaps, Galahad, perhaps you would rather hear about the time he tried so hard to convince me that a particular wench, the one that I got into an argument with Lancelot about and broke Ector's nose over, was not everything I thought she was? Do you want to know how he handled that one, Galahad? Do you?" Gawain had leaned in and was now almost nose-to-nose with Galahad. "He handled that by fucking her, Galahad. Agravaine fucked her and provided me with every detail – from how eagerly she spread her legs for him to how she'd pleaded with him when she realized he was only fucking her so he could prove to me that she was a filthy whore, just like the others who were only after a Knight, any Knight, to fill their bed." Gawain leaned back against the wall and his body shook, adrenaline pumping through his veins as furiously as it had been the night he'd listened to his brother's treachery unfold.

Galahad gulped. Now he was really very confused. How could…it didn't make an iota of sense that Gawain would be connected with someone who'd actually done to him what Lancelot always professed…

Gawain snorted as the adrenaline began to subside. "He did it, Galahad, to prevent me from making a huge error in judgment. Not out of malice, as Lancelot does." Gawain's voice softened. "It was a last resort. As I reflect on it now, I can see clearly how many times he tried to tell me, to talk to me…how Kay and Bedwyr and even Mouse tried… how my concentration on the battlefield waned and, gods forgive me, how it almost cost Kay his life. Agravaine knew I would never have been able to live with myself had that happened – to Kay or any one of my brothers. When the others gave up and I still would not listen, I guess he had no real choice than to force me to see…"

It was Galahad's turn to snort. "Can I ask you something, Gawain?" A piqued eyebrow was all the encouragement to continue that he needed. "What the fucking piss did you see in this man? He seems like some…" Galahad stopped, stumped for words. "I don't even know what he seems like, Gawain. Just some arrogant, brutal, bloodthirsty piece of shit that, no matter what you say, seems to only have been happy or content when he was harming someone else…namely, you. I'm sorry, Gawain, but that's my opinion." Galahad leaned back and crossed his arms, staring at the starry sky.

Gawain's vision blurred. How had he gone so wrong in translating Agravaine for Galahad? His voice was low when he spoke. "He was brutal because that was all he knew. Bloodthirsty because that was what allowed him and those around him to survive. Arrogant because, well, he really was that damn good. A piece of shit because you know as well as I, Galahad, that is what we are forced to be sometimes because it is what Rome wants. And what Rome wants, Rome gets – at least from her Sarmatian slaves."

A soft, sad smile played across Gawain's features. Galahad watched, still struggling to understand how Gawain seemed to have this worship for, in his estimation, a cruel and deceitful Knight.

"He stayed, you know."

Galahad was jolted out of his thoughts by the soft voice. "What do you mean?"

"Despite all his talk and all his insistence, when Arthur asked him, pointed out how severely low the number of Knights were and it would just be until shortly after the next group arrived and could at least be trained a little…he stayed, like Kay and Gaheris and Gareth and Mouse. Arthur held onto all their papers of passage, with the agreement that they could ask for them anytime they wanted and depart. But none of them did. They should have, but they didn't. Agravaine stayed and everyone else, well, they stayed because Agravaine was staying."

Gawain shrugged and tugged on a piece of bread. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry, but he needed to do something to transfer the feelings of guilt. He'd always felt partly responsible for binding Agravaine to the island, to this life – as though Arthur's favour had merely provided a convenient excuse for Agravaine to stay without suspicion that he'd gotten soft and was doing it for Gawain.

"Do you think he stayed because of you…?" Galahad found it hard to believe, but he knew a guilty acting Gawain and that was the only thing Galahad could think of as causing it.

"I don't know, Galahad. You see, Agravaine never wanted anyone to worry over him. He could worry over you, but it was not acceptable in reverse. So he would not have and never did say a word to me other than he stayed because Arthur asked and the shortage of Knights… He also never wanted anyone to feel indebted to him – well, except Arthur. He played the whole 'I stayed because you asked me to' thing anytime Arthur got under his skin really bad. If you weren't Arthur and he did something for you, or gave you something, it was because he wanted to – not because he expected you to do likewise or because he wanted to have something to leverage against you. I mean, he wasn't above bartering to get out of stuff he didn't want to do, like all of us, but if he went out of his way…that sort…"

"Did he give you anything?"

"Everything, Galahad. His knowledge, his wisdom, his friendship, his brotherhood, my nickname, many nights of laughter…" Catching Galahad's eye roll from the corner of his eye, Gawain laughed. "But, yes, he thought he was very secretive and sneaky, but it was well known he could be very generous to those he had an affinity for…"

* * *

**A/N:** So...the system is back online and I am trying to get rolling again with this story. I don't honestly think there's too much more before it wraps up but this is Gawain and, well, if you've worked with him, you know he doesn't shut up until he's had his full say... Thanks for coming back and reading.


	15. Gifts

**A/N:** Yep…another story chapter.

* * *

It was an early night, at least as far as many of the Knights were concerned. But then, Agravaine was not known for a penchant for either drink or womanizing. He considered his personal affairs as such – personal and was instilling the same sensibilities in Gawain. Or, rather, making an effort to. On this night, Gawain was a willing and apt pupil when Agravaine rose from the table the older Knights favoured and nodded in Gawain's direction, signaling his departure for the evening. Gawain, in turn, finished the mug of mead he had been nursing and rose to follow, to the annoyance of some of the younger Knights; in particular, Lancelot.

"Going somewhere, Gawain?" Lancelot asked, as innocently as he could manage. When he received little more than a glance in response, he pursued. "Has your master tugged the leash?" At that, Gawain turned but still said nothing. "I mean," Lancelot continued, "it seems that Agravaine controls your every move on and off the battlefield. And, since I can hardly see him wearing the leash…well, that leaves you." The sheen of too much mead in Lancelot's eyes drowned the underlying glimmer of jest.

Before Gawain could respond, Agravaine had wheeled about and covered the distance between he and Lancelot, prompting Kay to jump up in an effort to intercede.

"Agravaine," Kay began softly, working his way between the two, "you know when the Mouth drinks, things spill out that carry unintended meaning." He had used Agravaine's nickname for Lancelot, hoping that would help alleviate the tension. Kay was also using the opportunity to shove Lancelot backward and out of Agravaine's reach. Kay breathed small relief when Gawain stepped forward to assist, placing a hand on Agravaine's arm, attempting to turn him back towards the exit and out into the night.

"I would highly suggest," Agravaine began slowly, pulling his arm away from Gawain, "that you, Kay, have a discussion with the Mouth about his word choices along with the amount of mead he imbibes." He turned his focus to Lancelot, "because one day, Mouth…one day you will choose words poorly, Kay will not be here to act as intercessor," he shouldered past Kay, moving close enough that Lancelot could smell the remnants of venison stew on his breath, "and I will make certain you eat them." With that, he stepped back and resumed his departure, Gawain in tow.

_**xxxxxxxxxxx**_

The pace was brisk, as Gawain expected and he trailed a half-step behind the larger Knight. Lancelot had agitated Agravaine and that was never a good thing. An agitated Agravaine was an unpredictable Agravaine and that meant trouble for whomever the unlucky soul was to cross his path next. Gawain had assumed they were going to the usual spot, noticing when they kept walking past the parapet and, it dawned on him suddenly, that sunset was long past. Instead, he realized they were headed towards the Knights' quarters.

_What is he doing? Why are we headed back to quarters? Why did he want me to accompany him?_

As if reading his mind, Agravaine chuckled softly and slowed his pace. "I am sorry, Gawain," he finally broke the silence. "I just…well…you know how the Mouth wears on me. I do not appreciate his comments, nor do you, nor do any other of the Knights. Some days I wish he would try closing his mouth and on the other days, I think about closing it for him." Seemingly pleased by the prospect, he smiled and gave a small laugh. "But, truthfully, I don't want to think about him or what he said or what he thought."

Gawain looked at him questioningly, not quite understanding. Soon they were standing at the door to Gawain's quarters, Agravaine stepping aside to allow Gawain to enter first.

He opened the door and brushed past Agravaine, only to stop short. "Gawain!" The exclamation and the bulky Knight crashing into him, nearly sending them both sprawling, jolted him out of his daze. Thankfully Agravaine had thought to grab hold of Gawain's tunic and the door jamb, steadying both men.

There, sitting in the middle of Gawain's room was a trunk of dark wood, polished and luminous, looking exceedingly out of place among his meager belongings.

"I…" Gawain stammered, "I…have no idea whose this is or how it got here." He turned to Agravaine hoping for some direction on handling this and was surprised by the gentle smile.

"Relax, Gawain. Turn back around and take a closer look. I think you will find you recognize it." Agravaine's voice was calm, reassuring. Gawain turned back to the trunk and bent to examine it closer. Looking at the elaborate carvings of horses by the lock, he realized that he did indeed know the trunk.

"Yours," the recognition was more breathed than spoken. "But…I don't…why?"

"Because I need a larger trunk; you need a trunk. I am sorry that you did not get the new trunk." Agravaine moved forward, standing in back of Gawain and resting his hands on the younger's shoulders. "I hope you will not mind."

Gawain could not find his voice to answer and was not sure if he should nod or shake his head, so he settled for simply shrugging, the motion of which made Agravaine laugh softly. He felt Agravaine's grip tighten on his shoulders as he moved impossibly closer, whispering the command into Gawain's ear, "Open the trunk."

Gawain was uncertain, but another whispered command and Gawain found himself obeying without really knowing why. But then, that was an effect Agravaine seemed to have on him quite often. Obedience without question or thought; unfaltering trust. Gawain removed the lock pin and slowly, almost reverently, opened the lid of the trunk, releasing the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. There, inside the trunk was a scale brigandine similar to the one Agravaine slid on every time they rode into battle or out on patrol… Removing the shirt, Gawain saw that beside that, there were pants and the long leg skirts, again similar to those Agravaine, and many of the older Knights, favoured.

Placing the shirt back into the trunk, he turned to Agravaine. "Why? How? When? This is too much. I cannot." The words tumbled out in a torrent and were merely met with more soft laughter.

"Gawain, you must be properly attired so that your focus can be on your enemy and not whether your shirt is too tight, too loose or in poor condition. If I have taught you nothing else, I would hope I have instilled the value of having clothes and weaponry in good order." Agravaine looked him up and down and shrugged nonchalantly, "and besides, it's not like I didn't get anything out of the deal." Gawain laughed at that. He could not argue with such reasoning.

Before Gawain could do anything, Agravaine stepped back. "I am going to leave you for one last errand. You will do me a favour," he held up his hand to prevent the question he saw forming in Gawain, "and it is simply this: you will be fully dressed in your new battle attire upon my return. I wish to be certain that it all fits." Gawain nodded and watched as Agravaine cracked the door and slipped out, down the stairs and into the dark.

Gawain stood for a moment and gawked at the trunk and its contents before beginning to remove his tunic. Thinking better of it, he was about to put the garment back on when he looked deeper in the trunk and realized that there, folded neatly and tucked in next to the pants was a new, sleeveless tunic. Agravaine had thought of everything. Gawain smiled, knowing he could never repay this kindness. Damn him. He admired each piece as he dressed both for its newness and the care that he knew had been put into their selection. Agravaine would have overseen every last detail while still maintaining a view of the overall, something Gawain admired deeply and strove to emulate about his mentor, his friend, his brother.

He had finished lacing the last of the leg skirts into place when there was a knock at his door. "Come," Gawain beckoned, knowing full well it would be none than Agravaine.

"So…" Agravaine entered and closed the door behind before turning to see how Gawain was faring. Gawain looked up and Agravaine stopped dead.

"What?" Gawain worried, thinking that something was wrong as he saw the twitch at the corners of Agravaine's eyes. "What is it, Agravaine? Have I missed something or done something wrong?"

"No, Gawain, no," came the quick reply. "I am simply…well, here, this is the last of the contents that were meant to be in the trunk." He awkwardly held out a bundle to Gawain, who loosed the wrappings carefully.

"Vambraces," he whispered. "I cannot, Agravaine, I cannot accept these. This is too much already," he protested.

Agravaine simply shook his head and waved off Gawain's attempt to return them to his hands. "I will not accept them back. Besides, they are not that special. Again, they are my old ones that I simply had reconditioned for your use. As I said before, you cannot go into battle naked. Well, I suppose you could, but it's not the recommended battle attire. And the Romans might have a problem with it. Arthur would definitely not react well." At that, both men laughed. "So, put them on and let me see how you look."

Gawain finished fastening them and looked up to meet Agravaine's eyes, surprised to see the ice there melting. There was a sigh of satisfaction and Agravaine stepped across the room to get a better look at the completely attired Gawain.

Finally, the silence was too much for Gawain to bear. "Agravaine…?" The question was hesitant, unspoken.

Agravaine shook his head, long hair and braids rustling softly. "Not yet, Gawain. You are still missing important pieces." He sat down on Gawain's bed and motioned, "come and sit here in front of me." Gawain did as he bade, back to the bed. He felt Agravaine reach under his hair, separating out sections into strands and beginning to braid them. "These braids, Gawain, are important. Within my tribe, they symbolize that you are a warrior who has served his time under Rome and survived. A Knight. A brother. A member of my tribe. When you return to Sarmatia, I will tell you how to find me. My tribe will welcome you and you will have somewhere to call home, always." Agravaine's voice was soft as he spoke and fastened the braid. When he had finished the last of the three, he nudged Gawain forward with his knee. "Now you are fully and properly dressed."

Gawain stood and turned to face Agravaine, who stood and locked eyes with Gawain. No words were necessary between them. Each understood perfectly.

_You are a Sarmatian Knight, brother. A full-fledged member of the Brotherhood of Knights. Live it. Breathe it. Embrace it. Honour it. For it is who you are unto the end of days._

The embrace was strong, broken only when the need for breath became overwhelming.


	16. Death

**Disclaimer: **Nope don't own. They just seem to glom on and reside here as they see fit. Well, Galahad mainly because he likes the chocolate pudding cups…I swear that skirt's going to be a mini very soon if he keeps this up…

**A/N: **Still here? Oh good. Thanks for hanging with it/me/them. Timeline's still shifted, but the characters seem cool with it, so I'm good.

* * *

Galahad was struck dumb, which was no mean feat all things considered and by his own admission. All Gawain's attire, the things he wore day in and day out when they rode out on patrol or into battle…Agravaine had provided them all…

His head snapped up and he looked at Gawain, who just laughed quietly and nodded.

"Yeah, Gal…your trunk was once Agravaine's trunk. When he…died…I took his large one and kept the smaller tucked away, hoping that I would one day find someone to pass it on to, just like he had with me. Why do you think that when Bors saw it in your room years ago, he warned you to take godsdamned fucking good care of that thing because it had kept many a good Knight's weapons…?" Gawain snorted and shook his head, remembering all the quiet conversations and how though everyone had wanted the trunk, no one had been bold enough to ask for it. Well, someone had, but Gawain had refused; letting Lancelot have the trunk was never even been an option he'd considered.

"So…he could be generous and kind…"

Gawain laughed. "Yes, Gal. Agravaine could be. It was just not something he let show very often. Even to me. As he once said, he was only here because he had to be, because none of us got a godsdamned choice…because it was either killing for the Romans or be killed by the Romans."

Galahad nodded. Those were sentiments he could relate to easily. Everyone here did things they were not proud of, not happy with or about. You just did them because you had to; the only choice you had was do them and live or not do them and die. Many days could be made just that simple – choose life or choose death. Apparently, from what Galahad surmised, Agravaine had become quite adept at choosing life.

"What else?"

"What do you mean 'what else'?" Gawain seemed puzzled.

"Well…what else about Agravaine? I mean, he got you entirely outfitted for battle, taught you all about life here, got under people's skin rather effectively it sounds like…what other stories do you have?" Galahad leaned forward eagerly, his interest renewed. He was beginning to see through the enigma that was Agravaine and was hungry for more. What he'd learned so far had helped piece together facets of Gawain, but with more information, more stories of their life together, he was certain he would understand so much more.

The laugh was quiet and slightly sad. "There isn't much more, Galahad. Life was then as it is now: patrols and missions and battles and endless guard duty, only matched by seemingly endless meetings with stupid Romans who talked just to hear their own voices. The best I can do for your curiosity is a mission to find a reported Woad encampment in the least likely of places, far to the south of the Wall…" His voice trailed off as he paused to cut some more of the dried meat into strips which he set between them once again.

It had to be nearing mid-night, by Galahad's estimation, and though it was a clear and cool night, Galahad could not recall the last time he had felt quite so warm and close to his brother.

"So now…where was I?" Gawain picked up a strip of the meat and chewed. Galahad was uncertain if Gawain truly could not remember or if he was hoping not to remember.

"The mission," Galahad supplied, "to have a look at a supposed Woad encampment far south of the Wall."

"Oh yes…the mission." Gawain's voice was suddenly tight and Galahad sensed that this mission was not going to have a good ending. He could see Gawain take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, bolstering his conviction.

"Gawain…you don't have…"

"So we packed our gear and headed out, Arthur in the lead, as had become his usual spot." Gawain had forged ahead and Galahad relaxed against the wall to listen. "Well, in the lead behind Tristran. But we won't count Tristran as being in the lead since…well…we just won't." Typical Gawain logic.

"We got to where the encampment should have been. Tristran was waiting for us, looking perturbed – well, as perturbed as he is capable. There were remains of a camp, but Tris said it appeared to only be a transient camp, nothing that should have warranted sending out a full party of Knights." Gawain snorted, "Actually, I think he said something more along the lines of a typical Roman overreaction…but in his own words." This drew laughter from both men as Gawain remembered Tristran's exasperation and Galahad imagined the scout calling the Romans tiny brained sissies in his own manner of speaking.

When the laughter ceased, Gawain continued. "So we camped for the night and left for the fort in the morning. Instead of scouting ahead, Arthur told Tristran, Mouse, Gaheris and Gareth to do a perimeter check to the north. Unfortunately they listened to Arthur, despite Agravaine arguing that was stupid and senseless and…whatever other insults he could come up with and hurl in Arthur's direction. Turns out Arthur should have listened. The war party came from the south." Gawain shook his head at the memory. "They came up on our right, almost straight into us, like they had been tracking us…waiting on us…stalking us. Needless to say, we were completely unprepared for them. Godsdamn, we never figured out why Arthur just had to fucking argue with Agravaine when time and again he was proven right." Gawain took a breath. "With those four having headed north…we were short their weapons; and with as quick as a Woad war party can attack, you know every man and every weapon counts."

Galahad nodded vigorously, black curls bouncing in the moonlight. He hated how the mere thought of battle got his blood pumping and made him want to hear more; hated how Rome had forever changed him that way.

"Plus, having attacked from the side, they were able to split us into two groups, making it easier for them to encircle us. The larger problem though was whomever the Roman was that spied the Woads initially and reported back to the fort command…he couldn't fucking count to save his own life, apparently. Arthur had been told to expect maybe twenty warriors, not even enough to provide a good challenge for us… Fucking idiot Roman….there were a lot more than twenty. There might have been twenty in the first onslaught…the only good thing was that there were so many, you didn't have time to stop and count and wonder when it was going to end. They just kept coming and we kept fighting. Thankfully, none of ours had gotten too far before they heard Bors bellowing. We fought hard for our victory that day. Looking back, I can recall a few times that the thought entered my mind that we were done for – the Sarmatian Knights had finally been out-battled. In the end though, we were all standing – injured but still standing."

Gawain looked down into his tankard, swirling the liquid within. Galahad watched, debating the question. "What happened then?"

Looking up from the patterns and squeezing liquid blue eyes shut, Gawain picked up his narrative.

"It was time to sort through the field – you know…the usual. See if any Woad of importance had been killed without really looking at their faces. Recover our weapons. Some, especially the daggers, were still embedded in the Woad they'd killed, that was how furious it had been. Not even a moment to pull your dagger out of the dead before the next Woad was at your throat." Gawain shook his head at the memory. "You could tell where we had been standing because Woads were piled up – two or three on top of each other in some places. And we had to compare piles to find out who had the largest kill. Of course, Tristran, Mouse, Gaheris and Gareth bitched because they were our bowmen and so their piles were always smaller. They fought over who had taken more down with their bows. Lancelot strutted, but everyone knew that if they wanted to see the real pile of bodies, the most deadly damage inflicted, they needed to look no further than wherever the workhorses were: Dag, Bors, Agravaine and me. That was where the real competition and body count was."

Gawain paused again, searching for the words and stomach to continue. "And, of all things to lose, Agravaine lost his favourite dagger. It was his boot dagger and he was not leaving that field without it, even if he had to search every godsdamned Woad – twice if truly necessary, as I recall him swearing. So I helped him check. We were sorting through some bodies on the fringe, thinking maybe he had stuck it into a Woad and, as unbelievable as it might have been, not made a kill." Galahad nodded and Gawain went on. "There were just…so many…and they came so fast. Thankfully, Agravaine finally found his dagger, embedded in a Woad's shoulder. Though it was Gaheris' arrow in the chest that did him in, not Agravaine's dagger; so we had to haggle out that concession of a kill and listen to Gaheris go on and on about how he'd scored a kill over Agravaine. Though Agravaine argued bitterly that without the dagger stuck in his shoulder, the Woad probably wouldn't have been such an easy target…"

Gawain's voice began to trail off and Galahad was uncertain what to do. Should he ask and possibly pry or simply let Gawain come back to the story on his own. As it was, Galahad did not have much time to consider the choice.

"Agravaine knelt down and was working his dagger out. It was deeply embedded but, as I said, he was insistent that no matter what it took, he was not leaving the field without that dagger." Gawain paused, considering what he was about to say. When he continued, his voice was little more than a whisper. "Have you ever seen a dead Woad stand, Galahad?" Galahad shook his head no. "I have. I did. The Woad…stood…out of the pile of dead. He stood up with a sword in his hand. I was…I don't even know, maybe ten to fifteen paces from where Agravaine was kneeling, prying his dagger loose when I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye. He was directly behind Agravaine, so there was no chance that Agravaine had seen him. And because we'd been talking, and he'd been furiously swearing at prying the dagger loose, he hadn't heard him either. Before I truly realized what was happening, the Woad had run Agravaine through. Agravaine never saw the bastard, never knew what was going on until the sword…" Gawain's voice trailed off. "It came out his chest, Galahad. The expression…on his face… It wasn't pain, just surprise…then shock…as though he knew he'd been injured, but didn't know… Agravaine went to stand, to reach for a weapon but the Woad kicked him forward off the sword and it was then that I saw the realization in his eyes, on his face. One hand went out to try to break his fall, the other reflexively went to his chest, but there…it was… I screamed his name and lunged forward. I heard the arrows leave the bows, but it was too late. Agravaine was dead even before I caught him."

Galahad drew in a deep breath, not knowing what to say. He reached out, put his hand on his brother's arm and squeezed.

Gawain gave his half-laugh, but the pain was evident. His next words were so quiet that Galahad strained to hear. "It is entirely my fault."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is it your fault?"

"Why is it my fault? Because I froze Galahad. I did nothing to help my brother. My axe was at my feet, resting against my leg. I froze like a deer in a clearing. I saw the Woad stand. I saw the sword. I even saw him leering, anticipating the kill as he thrust forward, driving the sword through Agravaine. And I didn't do anything. I didn't even shout a warning. I just stood and watched. Like some scared child, I stood by and let my brother be killed. If I had reacted, if I had done something, yelled even, Agravaine would be alive today. He would be here," Gawain pointed at the spot next to him on the stone, "and not there," he gestured in the direction of the cemetery.

"You don't know that, Gawain." Galahad's voice was soft as he tried to find a way to make Gawain see that it was not his fault. Before Gawain could raise a protest, Galahad continued, "You might have been able to warn him, but would he really have been able to move? Would you have been able to get to the Woad in time? Or might it have cost your life as well as or instead of his?" Gawain had shut his eyes, listening, but Galahad could tell that his brother was not hearing.

"I froze Galahad. It is my fault that Agravaine died. I left his side. I should have been watching his back, should have been within the arm's length like we are taught. Not been however far away, absorbed in whatever idiotic thing I was. But I wasn't, Gal. I failed him as his fellow Knight, as his friend, as his brother. I failed." He gestured toward the mess, "None of them ever said it, but I know that they all think it. They were there that day. They saw what happened. My biggest failure cost this company the life of its greatest Knight."

"How do you know they think you failed if they've never said so?" Galahad inquired further, "You and me both know that Bors would be among the first to call you, or anyone, out if you screwed up, even more so if it cost someone's life. Bors would have said something just so the same mistake didn't happen again." Galahad squeezed Gawain's arm to prevent the argument he could sense coming. "Let me finish, Gawain. You didn't make a mistake. It wasn't your fault. You yourself said it was a shock to see a dead Woad stand, holding a sword. That's not exactly something you see often. Besides, it's not as though you were alone with Agravaine on the battlefield. There were…," Galahad paused to silently count, "nine other Sarmatian Knights and one Roman commander on that field. Ten other highly trained very skilled warriors. Why didn't one of them do something? Were they not paying attention? You said you heard the arrows leave the bows…so obviously they were armed. You can't keep holding yourself responsible, Gawain. It isn't right. It isn't fair."

Gawain laughed at Galahad's assertion of right and fair, which only served to incense the younger Knight more.

"Truly, Gawain, tell me exactly why you should be held completely and solely responsible for Agravaine's death."

"Why?" Gawain leaned in close to Galahad, his voice dropping to the dangerous Gawain tone. "Because he was my big brother, Galahad. He trusted me more than anyone. He trusted me with his life. Me, Galahad. No one else. Me. I was 'Blood'. And I let him down. I let him die." Gawain sat back, resting against the stone, eyes closed tightly but still the tears leaked out, leaving trails down his cheeks, lingering and glistening caught up in his beard.


	17. Admission and Guilt

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Still. Despite much trying.

**A/N:** It was brought to my attention that I did not sufficiently warn my beta that tissues would be necessary for this chapter. Hence, you are warned reader, my beta says tissues. Now.

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Galahad wasn't sure what to do. He had reached for his brother, only to be pushed away. He lost track of how long they sat; could think of nothing but the pain Gawain was shedding and wondered at how his brother had been able to keep it inside for so long. Galahad was certain any lesser man would have broken under the weight. Yet somehow, Gawain had managed to be one of the cheeriest and even-tempered of them all.

Gawain wiped at the remaining tears with his thumb, clearing his nose loudly. Galahad wanted to say something but, truly, what could he say to his brother, to the man who had always been his bastion of strength…? Any thoughts, any words died as soon as they were birthed.

"It was not even his death that…" Gawain paused to clear his throat and wipe his nose on a sleeve of his tunic. "I mean, Galahad, his death was painful. I remember…" here he paused for a humourless laugh and his voice became quiet, "I remember, Galahad, that I would not let go of him. Wouldn't let anyone take Agravaine's body out of my arms. I don't know if I thought somehow if I held onto him long enough, he would…it would…all somehow be undone… Finally Dagonet got me to release Agravaine and I think everyone wished he hadn't. As soon as Dag had Agravaine safely in his arms, as soon as I knew his body was taken care of, I went after the Woad who'd killed him."

"But…I thought…?"

"Oh, he was dead, Galahad. The arrows had been true. But I went after him anyhow. Tore him apart with my hands and my axe. Then I went after his kinsmen. Tore them apart too. Ripped their heads from necks, broke their bones and flung their corpses into trees." Gawain shook his head. "I think I injured myself worse after the battle than during. I broke at least three fingers. My knuckles were bruised purple and black…I could barely make a fist for a week." Again the humourless laugh sounded and Gawain paused to take a long draught from his tankard.

"What did the others do? What did Arthur do?"

"What could they do?" Gawain shrugged and rubbed his knuckles. "I think, in some way, they all knew it was better to let me…do whatever I was, than to have me ride back to the fort and have gods-only-knew-what happen to the first Roman or local that crossed me." Gawain shook his tangles. "No, it was much better that they let me go and exhaust myself. I don't remember the ride back, much less how I got to my quarters and into bed."

Conversation ceased as Gawain drained the contents of his tankard and re-filled it. Galahad watched every movement, imagining Gawain so furious, so hurt, so grieved; finding the image too painful for his mind, Galahad gratefully accepted the proffered wineskin and topped off his tankard.

Quietly, Gawain continued. "Perhaps the worst, Galahad, was months after Agravaine had been buried. Tristran caught me in the cemetery, skirting the edges of Agravaine's grave – wanting to be close to it, but not feeling as though I ought…" Gawain smirked a bit. "Well, Tristran caught me and I will never, ever forget what he said to me that night. He came and stood right next to me and said 'Gawain…you're free now.' " Gawain snorted and shook his head. "Standing next to me, in front of Agravaine's grave, he told me I was free…and I turned and punched him so hard, it split his lip and knocked him on his arse."

Galahad choked on his own spit. "You did _what_? To Tristran? And you lived?"

"Obviously."

"But I don't understand, Gawain. What did he mean, you were free now?"

"I wasn't certain at the time, Galahad, but I knew it was meant as one of those Tristran observations – you know, the ones that he thinks you ought to just understand and you don't and you feel like an idiot because he thinks it should be so obvious and you just don't get it… And, truthfully, part of me took it as an insult toward Agravaine. That was the part of me that punched him."

Gawain half-smiled and swirled the wine in his tankard, watching the patterns that mimicked the swirl of emotions he felt.

Galahad watched the emotions as play out on his brother's features. Sadness, anger, betrayal…each one came and went and came again even as Gawain lifted the cup to his lips and drank.

"Did you ever figure it out?"

"Yeah."

Galahad looked at Gawain, wanting to pursue since his own curiosity was now piqued but even still not wanting to intrude.

Sighing, Gawain met Galahad's eyes. "What he meant was that I was free to live my life as Gawain. Not as Agravaine's shadow. Not as Agravaine's little brother or his student. As Gawain, whoever he was and wherever he fit in. Unfortunately, Galahad, I was ill-prepared for that and, truthfully, I had a miserable time figuring out how and where I fit in. Finally, one night, I got piss-arsed drunk and went to Agravaine's grave." His voice quieted and cobalt orbs stared into the night sky. "I told him exactly what I thought of him: that he had been a horrible brother to all of us, how his protection made us all lax and caused his own death, that as a teacher he had been brutal and worthless…as a friend he had not been much better…and that I was disgusted and ashamed to be called his 'blood'… Called him a betrayer, a liar and a coward and anything else I could think of; I spit it all at his grave. I told him…" Gawain drew a shuddering breath, "I told him that I was glad he was dead and gone and that…that I hated him."

Gawain's voice faded as his shoulders slumped and fresh tears began to trickle. He had never admitted that to anyone. The only person who had known was the one Knight unfortunate enough to witness it, and he had taken the secret to his own grave.


	18. Flashback and Resolution

**Disclaimer:** After all this time, still have to say I don't own them in any way, shape or form.

**A/N:** It's been a bit. Things have been un-settled, especially when it came to this story, and I apologize for the delay. And you might need a tissue.

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_**Flashback**_

_Bedwyr stood in the doorway of the forge, watching the young man in front of him. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the grunting and swearing belonging to another young man he knew not so long ago…_

_Opening his eyes wearily, Bedwyr sighed and strode forward, clean shirt in hand. _

_It was time._

"_Gawain!" He had snuck right up on the other and yelled over the younger's shoulder. He snickered as the hammer slipped from the sweaty grip and the swearing intensified. It was little things like this that gave Bedwyr his greatest pleasures. He knew it was wrong and mean, but he couldn't resist – the mischief maker in him was just too strong most days. _

"_What do you want, Bedwyr?" Gawain was sweating and panting slightly as he wiped his face on the hem of his tunic. _

"_It's time to talk, Gawain. We're going for a walk to the cemetery…"_

_At the mention of the cemetery, Gawain blanched visibly and stepped back until the corner edge of the workbench stuck in his spine. Shaking his sweaty locks adamantly, Gawain swallowed hard and tried to find an excuse for why he could not, would not, accompany Beds. _

_Raising an eyebrow, Beds studied the youth carefully. Thinking perhaps Gawain was leery due to it being nightfall and the spook stories the locals liked to pass around, Beds tried to lighten the mood. "He won't bite, you know…" _

"_What?" Gawain was startled. Who won't bite? What did that have to do with anything?_

"_Agravaine. Won't bite you if you go visit." _

_Gawain turned ashen and hastily shook his head, long braids swinging to and 'fro with vehemence. _

"_Does death frighten you, boy? Cause you know we're all going to end up underneath one of those mounds one day…"_

"_I know." Gawain responded quietly, still not certain what Bedwyr was hoping to achieve. He knew Beds had witnessed his tirade against his former teacher, so what the hell did the old man want him to go to the cemetery for? _

"_Gawain…"_

"_I won't Bedwyr. I won't. I can't. Please don't ask me to…" Gawain's voice was trembling in its quiet pleading. _

_Nodding, Bedwyr relented. Would be of no use to drag the boy there, kicking and screaming; wouldn't accomplish anything except to push him away entirely. "Then pick up for the night and come sit with me…talk…" Bedwyr didn't wait for a response; he put the clean, dry tunic on a stool before heading toward the back of the forge. _

_Gawain did as the elder had asked – tidying up and making his way to the back of the forge. Beds was in one of the storage rooms, a fire blazing in the hearth, a ewer, two tankards and some bread waiting. Motioning Gawain to sit, Beds handed him a tankard before taking a seat himself, complaining mildly at the creaks and cracks and other assorted noises. Gawain winced and Bedwyr laughed. _

"_One day, Gawain, one day you'll get to be old and achy and pissy as well…if you're fortunate." _

_He shot a sideways glance at the boy and sighed. Sometimes he wondered if they were indeed the fortunate ones, the ones who persevered, or if the fortunate ones were really the ones under the mounds…most cut down in the prime of life, never suffering the aches of old age, the sting of being set aside, deemed no longer competent for battle… Shaking long, dark hair he brought himself back to present._

"_You know what I witnessed Gawain," he held up a hand for quiet, "and so I'm not going to go back to that and I'm most certainly not going to lecture you about the dead and honouring them and all that bullshit drivel. We honour our dead every time we ride back from battle and we're not out there digging another one of those." He kicked lightly at the floor and Gawain knew he meant the cemetery mounds. _

"_Then why are we here, Bedwyr?"_

"_Oh, what's it? You got somewhere better to be? Chasing some whore for a cheap night? Or trying to find that one woman who tells you how much she loves you and only you…until you ride out on your next mission and she's bending over…" Bedwyr shook his head. "Oh Gawain…so much to learn but yet you think you're so smart. Funny – a lot like Agravaine could've been on any given day." He gestured toward the cemetery. "A lot like his brother, Mordred, as well. You know Agravaine, but I think Mordred was buried before you came here. In fact, I would bet you know next to nothing about Dred because I know for damn certain Agravaine wasn't very forthcoming when it came to the topic of his brother." _

_Gawain eyed Bedwyr uneasily. The old coot seemed to be getting rather worked up over whether or not Agravaine had spoken to him about Mordred and how much._

"_No…I know of Mordred. I heard the other Knights talk about him – how good of a Knight he was, smart and quick and strong. Agravaine talked about him sometimes. It seemed to…I dunno…" Gawain shrugged and hoped that would suffice. Despite the fire, the room seemed a bit chilly and, if he was honest, the other somewheres Bedwyr had mentioned seemed incredibly more appealing right now. _

"_Seemed to pain him? Should have. Mordred was Agravaine's brother – and I mean his real, true blood." Bedwyr closed his eyes and sighed. _

"_What? I don't…I mean, from what I understood, Agravaine and Mordred came over together…but I thought the only twins…" Gawain was genuinely confused now._

"_They did and you are correct – the only twins are those godsdamned troublemakers Gaheris and Gareth." Bedwyr trailed off and mumbled something about making those two pay; Gawain smirked since he knew exactly what Beds was referring to and that once he did make them pay, they would regret their mischief at the old smith's expense. _

_Catching himself in the midst of his rumination, Bedwyr quickly came back to present. His voice quieted. "I am going to tell you something that not even Arthur himself knows, Gawain, because Rome…" he paused and squeezed his eyes shut, "Rome is greed and spite and arrogance and…all those things that only Rome can be because only Rome can get away with it." Green eyes opened and Gawain could see the pain clearly. Before he could question, Bedwyr went on. "Agravaine should never have been brought here."_

"_What? I don't understand, Bedwyr… All Sarmatian boys are to serve their duty to Rome…"_

"_Correction – all Sarmatian boys who have seen between twelve and sixteen winters."_

"_Are you fucking saying that…Agravaine…" _

"_Was not even twelve winters when he was conscripted. Mordred was thirteen winters and Agravaine was four winters younger. He was not even minimum age…but the Romans knew they were not going to be in far Northern Sarmatia again and, since he was the size of many of the boys who were in the correct age bracket…"_

"_They took him." Gawain's voice was low._

_Bedwyr nodded. "Heard his mother put up quite the fuss. I know of their father, Lot, and I am sure that nothing short of the Romans threatening to wipe out their entire clan, starting with the women and small children…well, let's just say that was the only possible threat that allowed them to take Agravaine. From what Mordred said, the Roman Centurion asserted that what Agravaine didn't have in age, he more than made up for in size and that was good enough for them." Bedwyr spit his disgust over his shoulder before taking a long drink from his tankard._

_For Gawain, things were beginning to take on a whole new perspective. His teacher, his mentor, his…brother…had been a few scant winters older than him. If anything… "He should have been in my group…"_

_Bedwyr nodded again. "Should've but wasn't. So…take your trip over, Gawain and imagine it from the perspective of a boy who not only is being forced to go, but is doing so without having the months to say farewell that you did; who had what could barely be called a sword since surely Lot had figured after seeing Mordred off, he'd have time to work on preparing Agravaine. Who one moment is standing with his mother, saying farewell to his brother and the next is being shoved onto a horse by some Romans – all the while listening to his mother wail and his father…" Bedwyr shook his head. _

"_But…how…? I mean, the other boys had to have known, had to have seen…"_

_A snort interrupted Gawain's inquiry. "What others? Besides the boys from their own clan, that is. Remember, Gawain, the Romans sent conscripting regiments north of the Sea, east of the Sea and south of the Sea…they converged in the middle and moved the combined groups toward the island, conscripting from those tribes as they went. Who would have known besides the boys from their clan and do you think any of them were going to open their mouths? You don't think either Mordred or Agravaine was going to let the other Romans know he was that much younger, do you? Have him become prey for some filthy Roman legionnaire? They were many things, but dumb they were not." _

_Silence settled as Bedwyr let this sink in. It also gave him time to finish off his tankard and pour another. He offered the ewer to Gawain, but the young Knight had barely dented the contents of his tankard; instead he watched the blonde struggling to reconcile things in his mind. _

"_But…when they arrived…didn't anyone notice…"_

_Bedwyr let out a dry laugh. "My understanding was that Lot was no small man – you knew Agravaine and, let me tell you, Mordred was built exactly the same. When Mordred arrived, they said it was easy to tell he was Lot's – he just looked like him, from the build to the hair to the eyes. When you looked at Agravaine, well, I guess he resembled his mother, but for the build and eyes – they were identical to Mordred's, so you knew Lot had sired him as well. Of course we thought it odd that two of his boys were here and they very obviously weren't twins, but we also weren't questioning the Romans. I mean, what were they going to do apologize and send him home? Fuck no. They had him here, they were keeping him here no matter what – you know that, Gawain. So they had to alter his birth date for their records…do you honestly think that bothered the Romans? Here's a better question, Gawain, do you honestly think the Romans care at all about those records? Truly?" _

_Gawain cast his eyes down and shook his head. No, he knew, like Bedwyr, that once Rome had you in her grasp, she was not going to release you until she absolutely had to. And if that day never came, if you died in service, your name was simply crossed off the rolls with a note that you had perished. Gawain had heard Arthur went through them when he took command, and, deep inside, Gawain believed he did – that Arthur was the one true exception – a leader who cared about those under his charge. _

_As if reading his mind, Bedwyr nodded. "Aye…I believe Arthur means to do right by us, Gawain. I really do. And I believe his father, Uther, meant to do right by us as well – it was just…the island was different and the Woads were, if you can imagine, more savage. There was little he could've done and, to be honest, he needed every possible and available Knight that could be mustered." _

**XXXXXXXXXX**

Gawain stopped speaking, overcome with emotion for what he'd finally, finally, gotten off his chest.

Galahad tried to imagine being…some quick mental tabulations and Galahad decided that about nine winters old seemed correct for Agravaine when he arrived…and to have been torn from his family, without the chance to prepare or to say farewell… Horrified, he gaped yet again this evening at his brother.

"And Rome brutalized him, just like the rest of us. But at a much younger age, Gal – they took his youth, gave him a sword and told him to go kill or be killed. And from what I understand, Uther was not in control of the Knights for long enough…he was killed and that bastard Lucanus took over. And, well, I've already told you what a marvelous commanding officer he was…" Gawain snorted and rolled his eyes before taking another pull from his tankard. "So now you can see, I hope, why Agravaine was the way he was…why he did the things he did, said what he said and treated people the way he did. Honestly, Galahad, I don't think Agravaine ever held any hope of leaving this island alive…of leaving this life behind. It was all he knew…aside from a few, small things – like the snows, his memories of home were so distant, so faded…they were probably more like a dream to him than memories."

Gawain smiled sadly and looked up at the stars. Sometimes he wondered if the tales were right and instead of being re-born as warhorses, the greatest warriors were placed among the stars, forever standing guard over those below. On nights he couldn't sleep, it comforted him to think of Agravaine above, watching over him, over all of them in his deeply protective manner.

"I've got his paper of passage. Found it in his warchest after he'd died, tucked in among some things." Shrugging, Gawain let out a deep breath. "Not really sure what to do with it…feels wrong somehow to leave it behind…"

"Then take it, Gawain. Take it with and, I don't know…"

"And his sword?"

Galahad raised a wondering eyebrow at his brother.

"Seems wrong to leave that here as well…leave it for those godsdamned blue savages to take and use and dishounour…" Gawain gestured to the cemetery. "Seems wrong to leave any of their swords behind, doesn't it? Really? Leave them behind like…like…they don't matter, to be forgotten…" Gawain's voice had risen in intensity and died off just as quickly.

"Then we'll grab it, Gawain. We'll grab his and Mordred's and Bedwyr's and whoever else's you think we should. Who's going to stop us? And, like you said, once we're gone, who is going to notice? We'll take their papers, if we can find them, and their swords and leave here…go home to Sarmatia…and…I…I don't know after that…" Galahad too had begun with gusto, only to have it flee. "But you're right, Gawain. You're right…they shouldn't be left to be forgotten…"

The two sat in silence, each pondering just what they would do with the papers of passage and swords of their deceased brethren when Gawain began to chuckle. Turning his head, Galahad wondered if all the ale he'd ingested had finally caught up with Gawain or if there was something else…

"Gawain…?"

"I know what to do, Galahad." Gawain smiled at the younger gently, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We're going to take them – all of them – we'll pack another fucking cart if we have to…and as we travel home, well, we'll have to stop and rest and eat, right?" Gawain paused and watched as Galahad nodded but didn't quite comprehend. "So we'll tell them the tales of our time here, the battles and victories and people. And when they doubt, we've got the swords, the papers…" Winking and laughing loudly, Gawain bellowed out, "A toast to Arthur and the brave, fierce Sarmatian Knights!"

_**- End**_


End file.
